Chapter 12: The Box In The Old Oak
Sarah led us back into the woods, about a hundred yards behind the cabin, to a huge gnarled oak tree that had stood there since before Roger was born. She climbed up the low branches, reached deep into a hollow spot near the top, and pulled out a small rusted metal box.
"Grandpa put it here three years ago," she said. "Said if anything ever happened to him, I should give it only to you, Daddy."
We pried it open. Inside: handwritten names, dates, bank transfers, photos of safe houses, audio recordings of meetings—everything the ring had spent twenty years trying to destroy.
"These alone take down their whole Midwest operation," Torres said, staring at the pile of evidence. "You have no idea how many kids and families you just saved."
We packed everything up, ready to head to the secure FBI safe house. But as we walked back to the cars, Melissa stopped dead.
"Norma," she said. "She went back to our house this morning to get clothes. She’s all alone."
My blood ran cold. "They know where we live."
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