Chapter 5
I wanted to believe Rachel was wrong.
I wanted to believe Vanessa was simply jealous.
Cruel.
Selfish.
Anything except someone willing to trade my son's future for money.
But the documents kept pointing toward something worse.
The next morning, Daniel Brooks called.
He'd reviewed the financial paperwork connected to Family Pathways Consulting.
"Marcus, we found a proposed service agreement."
My heart pounded.
"What kind?"
"An agreement describing fees associated with Noah's placement."
I sat down.
"Fees?"
Daniel spoke carefully.
"The document lists administrative payments and a separate consulting fee."
I stared at the wall.
"Who receives the money?"
"Family Pathways Consulting."
I swallowed.
"And Vanessa?"
Daniel hesitated.
"There's a proposed payment to an individual identified as a family liaison."
My stomach tightened.
"Who?"
"Vanessa Johnson."
For several seconds, I couldn't breathe.
My wife.
The woman who promised to love my son.
The woman who stood beside me at our wedding and called us a family.
She had apparently expected to receive money connected to sending Noah away.
"How much?" I whispered.
Daniel took a breath.
"Twenty-five thousand dollars."
I closed my eyes.
Twenty-five thousand dollars.
That was the amount listed beside her name.
Not enough to buy a house.
Not enough to change a life forever.
But apparently enough to make her consider tearing my family apart.
I felt sick.
Daniel continued.
"We don't know whether any payment was made. This is a proposed agreement."
I nodded slowly.
"Okay."
"But it's evidence that needs investigation."
"I understand."
After the call, I sat alone in my study.
I stared at a photograph of Aisha.
She was holding Noah when he was two.
Both were laughing.
I remembered taking that picture.
We'd spent the afternoon at a park.
Aisha had been chasing Noah around a fountain.
He slipped.
She caught him.
Then they both fell onto the grass laughing.
I had loved that moment.
Now I looked at their faces and felt an ache so deep I could barely breathe.
"Aisha," I whispered, "I'm sorry."
My voice broke.
"I promised I'd protect him."
I covered my face.
For several minutes, I cried.
Then I heard small footsteps.
"Daddy?"
I looked up.
Noah stood in the doorway.
He wore his favorite dinosaur pajamas.
His curls were messy.
He held a stuffed lion against his chest.
I wiped my face quickly.
"Hey, buddy."
He walked toward me.
"Why are you crying?"
I hesitated.
Then I decided to tell him the truth in a way he could understand.
"I'm sad because some grown-ups made bad decisions."
He looked concerned.
"Did I do something?"
My heart shattered.
I immediately pulled him onto my lap.
"No. Absolutely not."
He looked at me.
"Promise?"
"I promise."
He leaned against my chest.
Then he whispered, "I thought you were crying because of me."
I held him tighter.
"Never because you needed me."
He nodded.
For a while, we sat quietly.
Then he asked, "Do you miss Mommy?"
I closed my eyes.
"Every day."
He looked toward her photograph.
"Me too."
I kissed his forehead.
"She loved you more than anything."
He smiled faintly.
"I remember."
I looked at him.
"What do you remember?"
He thought for a moment.
"She used to sing when she made pancakes."
I laughed through my tears.
"She did."
"And she let me put chocolate chips in them."
"Way too many."
He giggled.
Then he looked at me.
"Daddy, can we make Mommy's pancakes tomorrow?"
My chest tightened.
"Absolutely."
He hugged me.
For the first time that day, I felt something other than anger.
Hope.
The next morning, we made pancakes together.
Chocolate chips.
Whipped cream.
Strawberries.
Noah insisted on stirring the batter.
He spilled flour across the counter.
Then froze.
"I'm sorry!"
I smiled.
"That's okay."
He looked surprised.
"You're not mad?"
"No, buddy."
I handed him a towel.
"Let's clean it up."
He smiled.
Then he laughed.
And as I watched him, I realized how much fear Vanessa had planted inside him.
A child shouldn't apologize as though a little flour could make him lose his home.
After breakfast, I called a child therapist recommended by Noah's pediatrician.
Her name was Dr. Rebecca Miles.
She specialized in helping children recover from emotional abuse and family instability.
I scheduled an appointment.
Then I returned to work.
But my mind remained on Noah.
That afternoon, Rachel called.
"Marcus, we've received additional information from Patricia Coleman."
My heart pounded.
"What did she say?"
"She provided messages from Melissa Grant."
I leaned forward.
"And?"
"One message instructed Patricia not to contact you before the transport."
I felt cold.
"Why?"
"Melissa claimed Vanessa had already handled parental consent."
I closed my eyes.
Rachel continued.
"There's another message."
"What?"
"It refers to making sure the child arrives before his father returns from work."
My hands clenched.
They'd planned the timing.
They knew I'd be away.
They wanted Noah gone before I got home.
I took a slow breath.
Then Rachel spoke again.
"Marcus, investigators have identified a bank account connected to the proposed liaison payment."
My heart pounded.
"Whose?"
"Vanessa's."
I stared at the wall.
"And?"
"There was a deposit."
My stomach tightened.
"How much?"
Rachel hesitated.
"Five thousand dollars."
I stopped breathing.
May you like
Then she said something that made my blood run cold.
"The payment arrived three days before Vanessa tried to put Noah in that SUV."
