Chapter 7: The Man Who Knew All The Rules
We raced back to the ER. The room was empty. The nurse assigned to Sarah was shaking so bad she could barely stand.
"A man in a CPS uniform," she said. "He had a badge, official paperwork, everything. Said he was moving her to a secure facility for her own safety. I didn’t know—"
"It was Roger," I said. "He’s ex-cop. He knows exactly what badges look like, exactly what paperwork to show, exactly what to say to make people do what he wants."
We pulled the security footage. He walked in like he owned the place. Talked his way past three nurses. Carried Sarah out in a wheelchair, blanket pulled up over her head. She didn’t fight. She didn’t say a word. She just hunched over like she was trying to disappear.
On the pillow, he left a single sheet of paper, written in that same sharp handwriting: Some things stay buried. Mind your own business, or you’ll bury her too.
Chris called every contact he had—police chiefs, judges, former colleagues from his law days. No one had seen her. No one had seen Roger.
Then my phone buzzed. Not a call. A text from a number I didn’t recognize: Lake cabin. That’s where he hides things he doesn’t want found.
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