Chapter 7
The Trap They Set for My Daughter
I didn't sleep that night.
Every sound outside the house made me sit up.
Every passing car made my stomach tighten.
Grace slept beside my bed in her bassinet.
I checked on her constantly.
I knew she was safe.
Security stood outside.
Detective Grant had arranged additional patrols.
But fear doesn't disappear simply because someone tells you the doors are locked.
At four in the morning, my father knocked softly.
"Nia?"
I opened the door.
He stood there holding two cups of tea.
"I couldn't sleep either."
I managed a tired smile.
He followed me into the sitting room.
For several minutes, we sat quietly.
Then he looked toward Grace.
"Your mother would have loved her."
My eyes filled.
"I wish she could hold her."
Dad smiled sadly.
"She would have spoiled that baby."
I laughed through my tears.
"Absolutely."
He reached for my hand.
"Nia, I'm sorry I kept so much from you."
I looked at him.
"I know."
"I thought I was protecting you."
"You were scared."
He nodded.
"Terrified."
I squeezed his fingers.
"Then let's stop being scared alone."
He smiled.
"Deal."
The next morning, Detective Grant arrived with news.
Samuel Price had been located at a private airfield outside Atlanta.
He was attempting to board a chartered plane.
Investigators detained him under a warrant connected to the financial crimes investigation.
I felt relief.
Then Grant continued.
"Richard is still missing."
My stomach tightened.
"And Diane?"
"She's been released pending further proceedings in the assault case."
I stared.
"She's free?"
"For now."
I looked down.
It felt unfair.
But Grant raised her hand.
"Nia, we're building a larger case."
I nodded.
"I understand."
Then she placed a photograph on the table.
It showed a small warehouse near an industrial district.
"We believe Richard has been using this property to store financial records."
My father leaned forward.
"That's an old Whitmore logistics building."
Grant nodded.
"We have a warrant."
I stared at the picture.
"Can you search it today?"
"We're already preparing."
I took a breath.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I opened the message.
A photograph appeared.
Grace.
My daughter.
Sleeping in her hospital bassinet.
The photograph had been taken on the day she was born.
My stomach dropped.
Beneath it were five words.
YOUR FATHER CAN'T PROTECT EVERYONE.
I felt sick.
"Dad."
He looked up.
I handed him the phone.
His face changed.
Detective Grant immediately photographed the screen and documented the message.
"Who had access to the hospital nursery?" she asked.
I shook my head.
"Doctors. Nurses. Family."
"Anyone else?"
I thought carefully.
Then remembered.
A woman had visited my hospital room on the second day.
She claimed to represent a charitable foundation that supported new mothers.
She brought flowers.
A gift basket.
And a card.
I had been exhausted.
I barely remembered her face.
"Someone from a charity," I whispered.
Grant leaned forward.
"What charity?"
I closed my eyes.
Then remembered the card.
THE WHITMORE FAMILY FOUNDATION.
My blood ran cold.
"Diane's foundation."
Grant's expression tightened.
"Did you keep the card?"
I nodded.
"It might still be in the hospital bag."
I rushed upstairs.
Inside my closet, I found the bag I'd brought home after delivery.
Beneath a folded sweater was the white envelope.
I opened it.
Inside was a handwritten note.
CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER.
WITH WARMEST WISHES,
DIANE WHITMORE.
I stared at the handwriting.
Diane had known about Grace.
She had sent someone to my hospital room.
Then three weeks later, she'd humiliated us in the hotel.
Nothing about this was accidental.
I returned downstairs.
Grant examined the card.
Then she made a call.
Within an hour, investigators had contacted the hospital.
The visitor logs showed that a woman named Patricia Sloan had entered my room using a foundation representative badge.
Security footage confirmed her visit.
Grant showed me the image.
I recognized her immediately.
"That's her."
Grant nodded.
"Patricia Sloan is a former employee of Richard Whitmore."
My stomach twisted.
"What does she do for him?"
"We're investigating."
Then another officer called.
Grant listened.
Her expression changed.
"Are you certain?"
A pause.
"Send it immediately."
She ended the call.
I stood.
"What happened?"
Grant looked at me.
"We identified the person who sent the photograph."
I held my breath.
"Who?"
"Patricia Sloan."
My hands began shaking.
"Where is she?"
"She was seen entering the warehouse this morning."
I looked at my father.
Then Grant.
"Then Richard is there."
Grant nodded.
"Possibly."
The next two hours felt endless.
Investigators searched the warehouse.
I sat in the living room with Grace in my arms.
My father paced.
Samuel's arrest had given us hope.
But Richard remained free.
Then Grant's phone rang.
She answered.
Her face went pale.
I stood.
"What?"
She looked at my father.
Then at me.
"We found Daniel Cole."
I stopped breathing.
My uncle.
The man who had disappeared years before my mother's death.
My mother's younger brother.
The man she'd spent her final days trying to find.
"Is he alive?"
Grant took a breath.
"Yes."
I burst into tears.
My father covered his mouth.
Grant continued.
"He was found in a secured room at the warehouse. He's being taken to the hospital."
I couldn't speak.
My mother had been right.
She had fought for him.
And after all these years, we were finally bringing him home.
But Grant wasn't finished.
"Richard wasn't there."
My stomach tightened.
"Where is he?"
"We don't know."
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I stared at the screen.
Grant nodded for me to answer while she arranged to document the call.
I pressed the button.
A man's voice filled the room.
Smooth.
Calm.
Terrifying.
"Nia Bennett."
I couldn't breathe.
"Richard?"
He laughed softly.
"I see your father taught you to ask questions."
I looked at Dad.
His face darkened.
Richard continued.
"Tell Alexander I want my company back."
I swallowed.
"It's not your company."
A pause.
Then his voice changed.
"You sound just like your mother."
My stomach twisted.
"Don't you dare talk about her."
He laughed.
"She was brave too."
I felt tears rising.
"And look where it got her."
My father grabbed the edge of the table.
I stared at the phone.
"What do you want?"
Richard's voice became cold.
"The original financial records."
I swallowed.
"And if we refuse?"
He paused.
Then whispered something that made my blood freeze.
"Ask your father what happened the last time someone told me no."
The line disconnected.
I looked toward Grace.
My daughter slept peacefully.
Completely unaware that someone had just threatened the family that loved her.
I held her closer.
Then I looked at my father.
"We're ending this."
He nodded.
May you like
"Together."
And for the first time, I believed we might actually win.
