Chapter 2 - THE LITTLE GIRL WHO LEFT A TRAIL
“Where is my daughter?”
My voice came out so loudly that Nathaniel Whitlock's security chief stopped speaking into his radio.
“WHERE IS MADELINE?”
I grabbed the edge of Nathaniel's desk to keep myself standing.
My daughter was eight years old.
She still slept with the stuffed rabbit her father had bought her. She was afraid of thunderstorms. And whenever I worked late, she waited by the window until my car came home.
Now a man connected to her father's death had taken her.
Nathaniel turned toward his security chief.
“Owen. Lock down the property. Nobody leaves until we know where that child is.”
Owen Calder, a broad-shouldered man in his forties, spoke into his radio.
“Secure every vehicle entrance. Check the service corridors. We're looking for Raymond Pike and an eight-year-old girl.”
Raymond Pike.
The name made my stomach twist.
Five years earlier, he'd stood beside Daniel's coffin and told me my husband had made a terrible mistake.
He'd shaken my hand.
He'd looked directly into my eyes while telling me Daniel had disobeyed orders.
And tonight, he'd been wearing my husband's watch.
Brielle appeared in the office doorway.
“Nathaniel, what's happening? Our guests are asking questions.”
“Raymond Pike took Evelyn's daughter.”
For one brief second, Brielle's expression changed.
Then she frowned.
“That doesn't make sense. Raymond hasn't worked here in years.”
“Then explain why he was speaking to you outside the mansion this afternoon.”
Nathaniel turned the catering assistant's phone toward her.
The photograph showed Brielle standing beside Raymond.
She looked at it without speaking.
“He came to discuss an old security matter,” she finally said.
“What matter?”
“Something involving the foundation.”
Nathaniel's jaw tightened.
“Then you should have told me.”
I stepped toward her.
“Did you know he was going to take my little girl?”
Brielle recoiled.
“Don't be ridiculous. I would never involve a child.”
“Then help us find her.”
She looked away.
That was the moment I stopped believing anything she said.
Owen returned with a tablet showing the childcare room's attendance records.
Someone had signed Madeline out eighteen minutes earlier.
The name written in the guardian column was Daniel Brooks.
My dead husband.
I stared at the familiar name until the letters blurred.
“That's impossible.”
Owen nodded.
“The childcare attendant says Pike showed a family authorization card. He told her he was collecting Madeline for Mrs. Brooks.”
“I never authorized anyone.”
“Understood.”
Nathaniel examined the signature.
“That isn't Daniel's handwriting,” he said.
I looked at him.
“You remember his handwriting?”
“Your husband used to leave me notes about my schedule. He printed his capital letters. Whoever wrote this didn't.”
It was such a small detail.
But for the first time that evening, I realized Nathaniel might have known Daniel better than I'd understood.
Owen opened the hallway security footage.
There was Madeline in her little yellow cardigan.
Raymond held her hand.
My daughter wasn't crying.
She was looking up at him, speaking.
There was no sound.
Then she stopped walking.
Raymond bent down.
She shook her head.
He reached into his coat and showed her something.
The silver wristwatch.
Madeline touched it.
I pressed my hand over my mouth.
“She knows that watch,” I whispered. “I've shown her pictures of Daniel wearing it.”
Raymond guided her toward the east service corridor.
A moment later, Madeline pulled away.
Something small fell from her hand.
Owen enlarged the image.
A blue hair ribbon.
“She dropped that on purpose,” I said.
Nathaniel glanced at me.
“How do you know?”
“Because I taught her what to do if someone ever tried to take her somewhere without me. Leave something behind. Make yourself noticeable.”
The next camera showed a paper butterfly lying near the service elevator.
Madeline had brought a little notebook and colored pencils to the party.
She was leaving pieces of paper behind.
My brave little girl was trying to tell me where she'd gone.
We followed the cameras through the east wing.
At the last recording, Raymond opened a door leading toward the old conservatory.
Madeline hesitated.
Then another person appeared.
An older woman wearing a dark emerald evening gown.
She approached Raymond.
There was an argument.
Raymond pointed toward the driveway.
The woman reached for Madeline's hand.
My daughter stepped toward her.
Then the woman led Madeline through a separate door.
Nathaniel leaned closer to the screen.
His face drained of color.
“That's my mother.”
I turned toward him.
“Your mother took my daughter?”
He didn't answer immediately.
The older woman disappeared beyond the conservatory doors, holding Madeline's hand.
Raymond followed several steps behind.
Nathaniel stared at the frozen image.
“My mother knew Daniel,” he said quietly. “She was the one who signed the final report about his death.”
My chest tightened.
“What final report?”
Nathaniel looked at me.
May you like
“The report that accused your husband of betraying this family.”
And suddenly I understood that Brielle might not have been the only person hiding the truth.
