CHAPTER 3: THE MISSING YEARS
I didn't sleep that night.
I sat on the couch in my empty living room, staring at the family photos on the mantelpiece. Daniel's face smiled back at me from every frame.
Our wedding.
Emma's first birthday.
A vacation to the Grand Canyon.
He looked so normal. So happy. So... fake.
I had known him for ten years. Married for eight. We'd met at a coffee shop near the university where I was studying graphic design. He'd been charming, attentive, and so easy to fall in love with.
Or so I thought.
Now I couldn't stop asking myself the same question.
Who was Daniel Harper?
Detective Chen had called three times. They'd traced the SUV to a rental company. It had been paid for with cash. No ID. No paper trail.
They'd checked Daniel's workplace. He'd quit his job two weeks ago. Given no notice. Just walked out.
They'd interviewed his colleagues. Everyone said the same thing.
"Daniel was a quiet guy. Kept to himself. Seemed happy."
Happy.
That word again.
Everything seemed happy.
But happiness was just a mask.
At 3 a.m., I did something I'd never done before.
I went into Daniel's home office.
The room was spotless. Organized. Too organized.
I started opening drawers.
First drawer: pens, paper clips, a notebook with nothing written in it.
Second drawer: old receipts, a few computer cables, a broken mouse.
Third drawer: locked.
I stared at the small keyhole.
Daniel had never locked a drawer in his life.
I searched the rest of the room. Under the desk. Behind the bookshelf. In his jacket pockets.
Nothing.
Then I noticed something.
A small gap in the carpet. Right where the leg of the desk usually sat.
I pulled the desk aside.
Beneath it was a loose floorboard.
My hands were shaking as I pried it open.
Inside was a black metal box.
I didn't know the combination.
But I didn't need to.
I took the box to the kitchen, grabbed the hammer from the drawer, and smashed the lock.
The sound was loud enough to wake the neighbors.
I didn't care.
Inside the box, there were documents.
Lots of them.
Birth certificates. For Daniel Harper. For a man named James Morrison. For a man named David Crane.
They all had the same photo.
My husband.
I stared at the faces. Same eyes. Same smile. Different names.
Then I saw the photo.
A woman I didn't recognize. Dark hair. Sharp features. The same woman from the farmers market.
The one who had taken Emma.
A note was attached.
"Transaction complete. Payment pending. Contact for next phase."
I read the words over and over.
Transaction complete.
Payment pending.
Next phase.
This wasn't a kidnapping.
It was a business deal.
And my daughter was the merchandise.
I called Detective Chen at 4:17 a.m.
She answered on the second ring.
May you like
"I found something," I said.
And then I told her everything.
