Chapter 2 - The Photograph in My Hand
I didn't remember crossing the office.
One second I was staring at Abigail's photograph.
The next, I had Victor Stanley by the front of his expensive suit.
"Where did you get this?"
His smile disappeared.
"Mr. Walker, I suggest you remove your hands."
"Who took this picture?"
Darlene was suddenly beside us.
"Blake."
I barely heard her.
In the photograph, Abigail wore her purple winter coat and the red knitted hat I'd bought at a discount store.
Her backpack was hanging from one shoulder.
She was walking beside her best friend, Olivia.
The picture had been taken outside Lincoln Elementary less than an hour earlier.
Somebody had been watching my little girl.
Victor raised both hands.
"You're making a scene."
I pushed him against the doorway.
"Answer me."
Security arrived.
Two men in dark suits stopped a few feet away.
Darlene lifted one hand.
"Don't touch him."
Victor turned his head toward her.
"Your janitor seems unstable."
"Your brother seems to know where my daughter goes to school," I snapped.
Darlene's face changed.
"Victor?"
He looked at her with mild irritation.
"I had our security department conduct a routine background investigation."
"On a child?"
"On someone you've apparently invited into your private office."
I held up the photograph.
"This wasn't taken from a school website."
Victor shrugged.
"Then perhaps you should ask the investigator."
Darlene stepped between us.
"Leave."
He laughed.
"You're dismissing me?"
"Now."
For several seconds they stared at each other.
I saw a family argument unfold without a word.
The older sister who expected obedience.
The younger brother who had spent a lifetime resenting it.
Finally, Victor straightened his tie.
"You always did have terrible judgment about men, Darlene."
His words landed harder than he probably intended.
She went completely still.
He glanced at me.
"Enjoy the promotion, soldier."
Then he walked away.
I followed until Darlene caught my arm.
"Blake."
"Let go."
"I need you to listen."
"Someone followed Abigail."
"I saw the photograph."
"Then you understand why I can't stand here discussing your corporate problems."
I pulled out my phone.
Abigail's school answered on the third ring.
"This is Blake Walker."
"My daughter is Abigail Walker in second grade."
"I need someone to confirm she's inside the building."
The receptionist sounded confused.
"Of course, Mr. Walker."
"Is something wrong?"
"Please check."
I heard typing.
A door opening.
Muffled conversation.
Every second felt like another inch of water rising around my head.
Then the receptionist returned.
"Abigail is in class."
"Her teacher says she's doing fine."
I closed my eyes.
"Thank you."
"Would you like me to call her down?"
"No."
I swallowed.
"Please don't release her to anyone except me or the authorized emergency contacts already on file."
"I understand."
I ended the call.
Darlene was waiting.
"She's safe?"
"For now."
I looked at the eighty-five thousand dollars still sitting on her desk.
"Your brother threatened my daughter before I even signed the contract."
"I know."
"Then whatever game you're playing, I'm out."
I turned toward the elevator.
Darlene didn't stop me.
That surprised me.
I reached the doors before she spoke.
"Victor knew about you before I did."
I stopped.
"Explain."
"My security team prepared your background report late last night."
"Victor's people had information on you this morning."
"That means someone inside my office is feeding him information."
I faced her.
"Maybe you should hire someone who isn't working for your brother."
"That's precisely what I'm trying to do."
I studied her.
"You're telling me he may have eyes inside your own security team?"
"Yes."
"And you still want me to bring my daughter into this?"
"No."
Her answer was immediate.
"I want you to take her somewhere safe."
Darlene picked up her phone.
"I know an independent attorney named Rebecca Shaw."
"She works with families dealing with threats, privacy violations, and workplace retaliation."
"I'll pay her initial consultation fee."
"You won't choose who represents me."
"Then choose someone else."
She put the phone down.
"I'll cover that fee instead."
I looked at her for a long moment.
"What about the money?"
"It's still yours if you accept the assignment."
"And if I don't?"
"I'll still address the improper collection of your records."
I wanted to believe she meant it.
But believing a billionaire executive had developed a conscience overnight seemed like another way to end up homeless.
I left without signing.
That afternoon, I collected Abigail from school twenty minutes early.
She came running down the hallway with a paper crown on her head.
"Daddy!"
I caught her in my arms.
"Hey, sunshine."
"Guess what?"
"What?"
"I got the highest score on my spelling test."
"Of course you did."
She held up a worksheet decorated with a large purple star.
I kissed her forehead.
"That's my girl."
Her grin faded.
"Daddy, are you mad?"
"No."
"You have your army face."
I forced a smile.
"My what?"
"The face you make when your knee hurts and you don't want me to know."
Children notice things adults work very hard to hide.
I carried her to the car.
We stopped at the pharmacy before going home.
The pharmacist, a woman named Denise, greeted us with the weary kindness of someone who had seen too many families choosing between bills and medicine.
"Blake, your daughter's refill is ready."
I reached for my wallet.
"How much?"
She told me.
My stomach sank.
The insurance adjustment hadn't gone through.
The amount was more than I had in checking.
"Can you hold it until Friday?"
Denise glanced at Abigail.
Then at me.
"Let me see what options we have."
She began searching her computer for an assistance program.
Abigail tugged my sleeve.
"Daddy?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I pay?"
She held out three crumpled dollar bills.
Money she'd been saving for a birthday present for her friend.
My throat closed.
"No, baby."
"But you said we have to help each other."
I knelt beside her.
"We do."
I kissed her hand.
"But taking care of you is my job."
She looked unconvinced.
Before I could say more, my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man's voice spoke quietly.
"Sergeant Walker?"
My body went rigid.
Nobody had called me that in years.
"Who's this?"
"Someone who served under you in Kandahar."
I glanced at Abigail.
"Name?"
"Don't say mine out loud."
The voice sounded familiar.
Disturbingly familiar.
"Listen carefully," he continued.
"Victor Stanley hired a private contractor last month."
"He's looking for someone who knows how you react under pressure."
I stepped away from the pharmacy counter.
"What are you talking about?"
"Your military file wasn't pulled by accident."
A chill crawled up my spine.
The man took a breath.
"The highway crash that injured Darlene Stanley wasn't an accident."
I looked through the pharmacy window.
Across the parking lot, a black SUV sat beneath a broken streetlight.
Its engine was running.
"Who are you?"
The man ignored the question.
"Do you remember Captain Owen Pierce?"
My heart gave a painful thud.
Owen Pierce.
My closest friend in the Army.
The man who had dragged me out of a burning vehicle eight years earlier.
The man whose funeral I'd attended three winters ago.
"Pierce is dead."
Silence.
Then the voice said, "That's what they wanted you to believe."
The call disconnected.
I stood frozen.
I remembered Owen's folded flag.
His widow crying beside the grave.
The official account of his death.
A private aircraft crash during a humanitarian logistics assignment overseas.
No recovered body.
Only identification documents and damaged personal effects.
My phone vibrated again.
A text message appeared.
It contained an address on the South Side.
And one sentence.
COME ALONE IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY YOUR FRIEND REALLY DISAPPEARED.
I looked toward the black SUV.
Its headlights switched on.
Then it drove away.
For the first time since opening Darlene Stanley's office door, I understood something.
This wasn't simply a family fighting over money.
Someone had reached backward into my military past.
And now they were reaching toward my daughter.
I returned to the pharmacy counter.
Denise had found a temporary assistance option that reduced the immediate cost.
I thanked her, paid, and tucked Abigail's medicine into my jacket.
My daughter looked up.
"Are we going home?"
I studied her small face.
"Yes, sweetheart."
I held her hand a little tighter.
"But first, Daddy needs to make a phone call."
I dialed the number printed on the card Darlene had given me.
When Rebecca Shaw answered, I didn't mention marriage.
I didn't mention eighty-five thousand dollars.
I said only one thing.
"Someone is threatening my daughter, and I need a lawyer who isn't afraid of rich people."
Then I asked her to tell me whether I could trust Darlene Stanley.
Her answer made my blood run cold.
"Mr. Walker, before we discuss Darlene, there's something you should know."
May you like
She paused.
"Her brother was investigated in connection with your friend's disappearance."
