Keep Emma close. I’ve filed for a temporary child protection order and notified family court. Prepare duplicates of all evidence.
Ethan replied. We have audio recordings. There are signs of contract forgery.
Meeting this afternoon. They moved to the scanning station. Emily guided Emma’s small hands to place the papers on the glass and press the button.
You’re doing great. Emma gave the faintest smile. For the first time that day, her eyes relaxed.
Ethan seized the moment to make a quick call to his office. I need the legal team to prepare a comparative report on Richard’s signatures from 2019 through 2023. Urgent.
The phone rang again. It was an unknown number. A woman’s voice introduced herself as a reporter.
We want to ask about the kidnapping allegations. Ethan kept his tone calm. I will release a statement once the court issues a temporary ruling.
I will not respond outside the legal framework. He hung up, not allowing the next question to spill through the speaker. Emily finished printing, clipped the papers into a folder, and handed it to Ethan.
This is the copy for submission. I’ll keep the duplicate in the library as required by record regulations. If anyone asks, I’ll answer according to the law.
Ethan bowed his head slightly. Thank you, Emily. Emily smiled.
Thank you for bringing her here instead of leaving her to fend for herself. When they left the library, the evening breeze swept gently through the street. Ethan guided Emma across the crosswalk.
He knew Karen would not stop. She had money, lawyers, and cameras ready to record any story she wanted to tell. He tightened his grip on the folder, reminding himself of the rhythm.
Slow, steady, lawful. Night fell as they returned to the building. In the elevator, Emma rested her face against his shoulder, breathing evenly.
Are you tired today? Ethan asked softly. I’m fine. I don’t want to go back to that house.
You will never have to go back to a place that scares you. The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped into the hallway. Ethan paused for half a second.
Across the street, beneath the shadow of the trees, a black car was parked. Its headlights blinked once, then went out, like a deliberate wink. Ethan ushered Emma inside, locked the door securely, and stepped out onto the balcony to look down.
In the driver’s seat, Robert Hayes held a cigarette between his lips, his fingers tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel. The cigarette glow cut through the darkness, revealing the cold smile at the corner of his mouth. He tilted his head back, as if he knew exactly which apartment had the light on.
The two men looked at each other across the silent distance. Ethan did not retreat. He simply drew the curtain closed, made a quick call to the building’s security, and sent Anderson a single message.
They followed us to the door. Outside, the headlights blinked once more, then silence. The car did not leave.
A quiet threat lingered, waiting just below the building. Ethan drew the curtains shut, and dialed security. He instructed them to increase patrols around the lobby and the parking garage.
Fifteen minutes later, the black car finally drove away. Ethan jotted a quick note to Anderson. They showed up in person.
The next morning, he took Emma to the library. Emily greeted her at the children’s desk, and handed her a box of crayons. She leaned toward Ethan and spoke softly.
I’ll sit with her. Go ahead and take care of your work. Ethan nodded, resting a hand on Emma’s shoulder.
I’ll be right back. Stay here with Miss Emily. Emma gave a small nod, clutching her stuffed bear, her eyes following him until he disappeared behind the shelves.
Ethan returned to the old Collins neighborhood. He rang the bell at apartment 2B. The door cracked open.
An elderly woman with neatly cut white hair and dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep peered out. She was Dorothy Wilson, the family’s long-time neighbor. Sorry to bother you so early.
Ethan introduced himself briefly, handing over a business card. I was a close friend of Richard’s. I need to hear what you saw yesterday.
Dorothy pressed her lips together, one hand gripping the edge of the door as if afraid someone might overhear. She whispered. I saw them.
They dragged the girl into the yard. Robert grabbed her wrist, and Karen held a bucket of water. They poured it straight over her head.
She was shaking like a leaf. But… Dorothy pulled back slightly. I was afraid to speak.
They have money. They have connections. I’m scared.
Ethan didn’t press. He exhaled slowly, meeting her eyes. If you stay silent, Emma will never be free.
I’ll stand with you. You won’t be alone. Dorothy stayed quiet for a long moment.
Then she opened the door wider, as if opening her heart. I want to tell the truth, but I need to know I’ll be protected. My attorney will arrange protection for witnesses.
You only need to say exactly what you saw. Ethan handed her a slip of paper with Anderson’s phone number. He doesn’t talk much, but he gets things done.
They walked to the back lot. Near the edge of the parking area, a man sat on an old wooden crate, wearing a worn jacket with frayed shoulders, turning a piece of dry bread in his hand. He was Frank Miller, the homeless man often seen around the building.
Dorothy called out, Frank, come over here for a moment. Frank squinted at Ethan, instinctively wary. Ethan handed him a cup of hot coffee he had just bought on the corner.
I was a friend of Richard’s. Frank accepted it, the warmth seeping into his cracked hands. He cleared his throat.
I saw it yesterday. They dragged that girl like she was a sack. She slipped on the steps, crying without a sound.
I wanted to step in, but Robert glared at me. I’ve got nothing left to lose. But that girl, she doesn’t deserve to live like me.
I’ll tell the truth. Ethan gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. Thank you.
He passed him another card along with a paper noting an appointment time. This is your meeting with Mr. Anderson. I’ll be there with both of you.
Dorothy nodded. Frank nodded. The three of them stood in silence for a few seconds, sealing a small vow in the daylight.
In the afternoon, Ethan returned to the library to pick up Emma. Emily had already printed a timeline comparison chart. She spoke quickly.
I managed to contact the hospital records department. The timing of the transfer contract doesn’t match Richard’s sedated condition. Ethan replied crisply, Good.
Tomorrow we meet Anderson. Submit this along with the witness. As night fell, Emma went to bed early, hugging her teddy bear, her breathing steady.
Ethan opened his computer in the study. He searched through old emails and service accounts, tied to the car Richard’s wife used to drive. A maintenance folder appeared.
There was a technical report from the manufacturer, with a short note in English. BCM. ECU log.
Abnormal override entries. Ethan opened the attachment. A circuit map appeared on the screen, with strange log entries marked exactly one week before the accident.
He called a friend who was an automotive engineer, and put him on speaker. I’m looking at some odd logs in the BCM. It’s not related to the brakes.
Looks like someone tampered with the central control unit, forcing incorrect commands. The voice on the other end answered firmly, If that’s the case, it took serious skill. No amateur could have done it, and they’d need direct access to the vehicle…
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