Chapter 5 - The Wrong Kind of Rescue
The police arrived in six minutes.
My mother arrived in five.
That told me everything.
Evelyn stepped from the elevator in cream wool, perfectly composed, with Brielle beside her.
Of course Brielle was there.
My almost-fiancée looked at the four boys and whispered, “Oh my God.”
Mara moved in front of them.
My mother ignored her.
“Adrian, step away from the children.”
“They're not kidnapped.”
“The restaurant reported them missing.”
“Their mother is standing right there.”
My mother looked at Mara for the first time.
“You have always been reckless.”
Mara smiled without humor.
“And you've always been rich enough to call cruelty organization.”
A police officer raised a hand.
“Everybody stop.”
The next ten minutes were humiliating.
Names.
IDs.
Questions.
Mara's hands shook while she searched for documents.
One officer recognized me.
That made it worse.
Brielle pulled me aside.
“Tell me they're not yours.”
“I can't.”
Her face folded.
Not dramatically.
Just a tiny collapse around the eyes.
I had known Brielle for twelve years.
I had never loved her.
But I had let her build a future around my silence.
That was another mistake.
“You were going to propose tonight,” she said.
“I know.”
“Did you know about them?”
“No.”
“Did you love her?”
I looked at Mara.
“Yes.”
Brielle slapped me.
Hard.
The room went quiet.
Then Milo said, “Whoa.”
I almost laughed.
Brielle started crying.
“I hate you.”
“You should.”
“No, don't do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make it easy for me by agreeing.”
She wiped her face.
“I wanted you to fight for me once.”
I had nothing to say.
She left.
My mother watched her go.
Then she turned to me.
“Look what you've done.”
That was when Mara stepped forward.
“No. Look what you did.”
She held up the visitor rejection form.
My mother's expression didn't change.
The officer took it.
“Mrs. Whitaker, did you prevent Ms. Reyes from contacting your son?”
“This is a family matter.”
“Not anymore.”
Gerald stood in the corner, silent.
Too silent.
I looked at him.
“Where's the flash drive?”
Mara reached into her pocket.
Empty.
She checked the other.
Then her face changed.
Gerald was already moving toward the elevator.
“Gerald.”
He ran.
I went after him.
The elevator doors closed.
I took the stairs.
Fourteen floors.
By the time I reached the lobby, he was gone.
But the doorman held something.
“Mr. Whitaker, he dropped this.”
Not the flash drive.
A photograph.
My father, Mara, and the boys.
On the back, in my father's handwriting:
May you like
IF ADRIAN FINDS THEM, TELL HIM EVELYN IS NOT THE ONE HE SHOULD FEAR.
