Chapter 5 - Daddy Watched
I did not watch the recordings immediately.
Marcus advised me not to.
Nora advised me not to.
The child psychologist assigned through the hospital advised me not to.
They all had the same reason.
I had already seen enough.
But there are things a mother cannot leave entirely to other people.
The next morning, after Lily went with a trauma specialist named Dr. Maya Reynolds for her first session, I drove to the federal field office.
Marcus met me in a secured conference room.
A laptop waited on the table.
Beside it sat a box of tissues nobody mentioned.
“You can stop whenever you want,” Marcus said.
“I know.”
“You don’t need to prove anything by watching.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because Lily lived it.”
He said nothing after that.
The first recording showed our living room at 6:42 p.m. eighteen days earlier.
Lily sat at the dining table.
Vanessa stood over her.
Grant was on the sofa reading something on his tablet.
The audio was clear.
Vanessa pointed at Lily’s plate.
“You’re not leaving until you finish.”
Lily shook her head.
“I’m full.”
Vanessa grabbed the plate.
“Your mother isn’t here to spoil you.”
Grant did not look up.
Lily’s eyes went toward him.
“Daddy?”
He continued reading.
Vanessa leaned closer.
“You see? He’s tired of you too.”
I stopped the video.
My hands were shaking.
Marcus waited.
“Continue.”
The next clip was worse.
Vanessa had locked Lily inside the dark pantry beneath the staircase because she had spilled juice.
Grant entered the room ten minutes later.
He heard Lily crying.
He opened the pantry.
For one second, I thought he was going to rescue her.
Instead, he crouched.
“You need to stop upsetting Vanessa.”
Lily reached for him.
He stepped back.
“Apologize.”
“I want Mommy.”
Grant’s face changed.
Cold.
“Mommy chose work.”
“I want Mommy.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I want—”
He closed the door again.
I stood so abruptly the chair hit the wall.
Marcus shut the laptop.
I walked to the far end of the room.
For several seconds, I couldn’t breathe properly.
I had been shot at twice during my career.
Once through a windshield.
Once inside a warehouse in Tulsa.
Neither memory made me feel as helpless as watching my daughter reach for her father and seeing him close a door.
“I left her with him.”
Marcus’s voice was quiet.
“Evelyn.”
“I left her.”
“You left her with her father.”
“I should have known.”
“How?”
I turned.
“I investigate people for a living.”
“You investigate suspects.”
“He slept beside me.”
“That doesn’t make you psychic.”
I looked away.
Marcus continued.
“Grant built a life designed to look safe.”
That was true.
He coached Lily’s soccer team.
Made pancakes on Sunday.
Remembered birthdays.
Donated to children’s hospitals.
Sent flowers to my office.
The dangerous people I investigated rarely looked dangerous.
I had simply believed my husband was an exception.
“There’s another part you need to know about,” Marcus said.
I faced him.
“What?”
“We found Grant discussing you with Vanessa.”
He reopened the laptop.
The date was ten days earlier.
Vanessa sat on the sofa.
Grant poured bourbon.
She looked irritated.
“She should have been dealt with already.”
Grant glanced toward the hallway.
“Keep your voice down.”
“She’s five.”
“She repeats things.”
Vanessa rolled her eyes.
Then she asked:
“When does Evelyn’s assignment end?”
Grant answered.
“She thinks Monday.”
My blood froze.
My actual scheduled extraction date had been classified.
Even spouses received only broad estimates.
Vanessa smiled.
“And Victor?”
Grant lowered his voice.
“If everything stays on schedule, Evelyn won’t be in a position to interfere with anything.”
Vanessa laughed.
“Meaning?”
Grant looked directly toward the fireplace camera.
Then away.
“Meaning stop asking questions.”
Marcus paused the recording.
I stared at my husband’s face on the screen.
“Victor knew where I was.”
“We believe so.”
“How?”
“We seized records from one of the shell brokers this morning.”
He slid a printed page toward me.
It showed payments.
Dates.
Account numbers.
One recipient appeared repeatedly.
A consulting company registered in Wyoming.
CSP Holdings.
Carlisle Strategic Partners.
Grant.
My husband had received more than three million dollars personally.
I looked at the dates.
One payment arrived the day after I left for the operation.
Another two days after our surveillance unit relocated.
Another after the Winnipeg contact disappeared.
“Marcus.”
“Yes.”
“You think he sold information about me.”
“I think he sold something.”
“Could he have known enough?”
“We’re investigating how.”
I remembered Grant asking casual questions before I left.
Would I be driving?
Would I need winter equipment?
Could I receive packages?
Would I cross into Canada?
I had laughed.
Told him I couldn’t say.
But even refusals reveal information when someone knows how to listen.
Then another memory surfaced.
Three months before deployment, my personal laptop had disappeared for an afternoon.
Grant said he accidentally took it to work because our cases were identical.
It had been returned by dinner.
At the time, I joked that he owed me wine.
I stopped smiling now.
“My laptop.”
Marcus looked up.
“What about it?”
“Three months ago.”
I explained.
His expression hardened.
“We’ll need it.”
“It’s at home.”
“Not anymore.”
“What?”
“The warrant was approved twenty minutes ago.”
My heart kicked.
“Search warrant?”
“For the residence and Grant’s corporate office.”
“Where is Grant?”
“Still at the house.”
“He knows?”
“He’s about to.”
Marcus stood.
“You’re staying here.”
“I know.”
He looked surprised.
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
I had no desire to kick down my own front door.
I wanted something stronger than revenge.
I wanted evidence.
I wanted truth.
And most of all, I wanted Grant to lose every hiding place he had built.
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I answered cautiously.
“Evelyn?”
A woman’s voice.
Shaking.
Familiar.
“Rosa?”
She began crying.
“Thank God.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m safe.”
“Why did you leave?”
“Mr. Grant made me.”
My pulse accelerated.
“What happened?”
Rosa lowered her voice.
“I found papers in his office.”
“What papers?”
“About you.”
I looked at Marcus.
He was already signaling for a trace.
Rosa continued.
“There was a photograph.”
“Of what?”
“You.”
My throat tightened.
“Where?”
“In snow.”
My heart stopped.
“No one at home had photographs from my assignment.”
“I know.”
Rosa sobbed.
“That’s why I was scared.”
“Rosa, listen to me. What else did you see?”
“A map.”
“What map?”
“The border.”
May you like
She breathed.
“And a red circle where someone wrote your name.”
