Chapter 3 - The Family Business
The words hung in the air, freezing the blood in my veins.
Jackson is knee-deep in it with her.
My husband. The man I had shared a bed with for five years. The man who kissed me goodbye every morning before his commute to his high-paying corporate consultancy firm. The man who told me I was "overreacting" when I panicked over a torn doll and a locked door.
"What are you talking about, Cassandra?" I said into the phone, my voice dropping into a dangerous, icy calm that made Sergeant Miller turn his head sharply to watch me. "Explain yourself right now, or I swear to God when the police catch up to you, I will make sure you go down with them."
"I didn't know how deep it went until an hour ago!" Cassandra sobbed on the other end of the line, tires screeching in the background as she clearly navigated an off-ramp at high speed. "Mom has been taking unwanted toddlers and infants from vulnerable young mothers—girls she counsels through her charity outreach program—and falsifying adoption papers for wealthy buyers who pay six figures under the table! Jackson’s firm handles the shell companies that launder the money!"
My knees buckled slightly, but I caught myself against the hallway wall, keeping Mia shielded against my chest. Mia whimpered, sensing my distress, and I immediately softened my grip, rocking her gently.
"And Mia?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Why Mia? We’re her parents!"
"Because Jackson’s startup failed six months ago," Cassandra cried, the truth spilling out in a desperate torrent. "They accumulated over a million dollars in debt. Mom told Jackson she had a buyer lined up for Mia—a billionaire couple in Europe who wanted a healthy three-year-old girl with no questions asked. They convinced him you were too working-class, too exhausted from your hospital job to notice, and that they could frame it as a 'protective custody' removal if anyone asked questions. Mom tore up Rosie on the step to send a psychological message—to break you before you even walked through the door."
A wave of pure, incandescent fury washed away every lingering doubt. They weren't just dysfunctional family members; they were predators wearing Sunday church clothes.
"Where are they?" I asked sharply.
"They’re heading back to the house right now," Cassandra said. "Mom thinks she can stall the police by using Jackson’s corporate connections, and Jackson... God, Emily, Jackson thinks he can convince you to sign a voluntary relinquishment form by claiming you're mentally unfit due to hospital stress. Get out of there!"
Before I could answer, the crunch of gravel echoing up the driveway announced the arrival of a vehicle.
Sergeant Miller stepped to the shattered front doorway, peering through the broken glass. A silver Lexus RX-350 had just pulled up behind the patrol car, blocking the driveway.
Jackson and Lorraine stepped out of the vehicle together.
Lorraine was wearing her immaculate beige trench coat, her silver hair styled in a flawless chignon, holding a leather designer handbag as if she were arriving for a high-tea charity luncheon. Jackson was right beside her, loosening his silk tie, his face flushed with irritation as he spotted the police cruiser parked on the lawn.
"Stay here with Officer Vance," Sergeant Miller instructed me, his hand resting firmly on his firearm. "Do not come outside."
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"Try and stop me," I whispered fiercely.
I handed Mia to the younger officer, who looked at her with gentle, protective eyes. "Hold her safe," I told him. Then, I turned and walked down the hallway, stepping over the splintered wood of the front door, right out onto the sunlit porch where Rosie’s torn cotton body still lay discarded like garbage.
