Chapter 4 - THE OTHER LITTLE GIRL
Ramirez called him.
The moment she said Hearth Family Transition Services, he stopped talking.
Then he asked one question.
"Is Natalie back?"
"Who is Natalie?"
Michael's answer came through the speaker.
"The woman I almost married."
My stomach dropped.
Michael drove to New York that afternoon.
He looked like a man who had not slept properly in years.
"She called herself Natalie Cross," he said. "She entered our lives through a bereavement group."
The same pattern.
"Did she hurt Sophie?"
Michael rubbed both hands over his face.
"Not physically. She made her think she was broken."
He described locked rooms.
Missing toys.
Pictures of Sophie's mother disappearing.
Whispered comments that her father was exhausted because of her.
Exactly what Vanessa had done to Emma.
"Why didn't you report her?"
"I did."
"What happened?"
"She disappeared before police interviewed her."
Michael looked at the evidence bag holding the bedroom camera.
"Two weeks later I found one of those."
Ramirez leaned forward.
"Did you recover footage?"
"No. Memory card was gone."
"Why was your family targeted?"
Michael looked at me.
"I thought it was money."
"Was it?"
"My late wife left Sophie a trust."
I felt the floor tilt beneath me.
Claire had left Emma one too.
A substantial education and property trust funded by her family.
Vanessa knew about it because I had listed her as Emma's emergency guardian after our engagement.
Ramirez asked Michael, "Did Natalie ever try to change the trust?"
"Not directly."
"Then what?"
"She convinced me Sophie needed a residential behavior program."
My breath stopped.
Michael's eyes filled.
"I signed the preliminary papers."
"What program?"
He swallowed.
"Hearth House."
Ramirez searched.
No active license.
No registered school.
No state-accredited treatment center.
Just a dissolved company with a mailing address in Vermont.
Michael stared at the screen.
"I almost sent my daughter there."
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A man's voice said, "Michael, you should have stayed quiet."
The line disconnected.
Ramirez looked at us.
"That wasn't for him alone."
My phone buzzed next.
A photo appeared.
May you like
Emma leaving preschool that morning.
Taken from across the street.
