PART 10 — THE HORRIFYING TRUTH ABOUT FILE 17
“It’s about what they did to Lily.”
Those seven words stared back at me from my phone screen.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
My six-year-old daughter was sleeping in the hospital room beside us, completely unaware that the nightmare surrounding her birth had just taken another terrifying turn.
I looked at Detective Sarah Collins.
“Please tell me that message is a lie.”
She didn’t answer immediately.
And somehow, her silence frightened me more than anything she could have said.
“Emily, we haven’t established who sent those messages. We need to examine File 17 before drawing conclusions.”
I shook my head.
“But Grace wrote that the doctor fixed the wrong baby.”
“I know.”
“And now someone says they did something to Lily?”
Sarah reached for my hand.
“We’re going to follow every piece of evidence.”
I pulled away.
“That’s what everyone keeps saying!”
My voice cracked.
“Follow the evidence. Wait for the results. Let the investigators handle it. Meanwhile, my daughter is lying in a hospital bed because she’s frightened and hurting, and my other daughter has spent six years locked away from me!”
Tears poured down my cheeks.
“I need to know what happened to my children.”
Detective Michael Harris quietly closed the consultation room door.
“Mrs. Carter, we understand.”
I stared at him.
“No. You don’t.”
Then I covered my face.
Because I knew he was trying to help.
But I was exhausted.
I had been awake for almost two days.
My husband had disappeared.
My mother had admitted hiding the existence of my second daughter.
And somewhere inside a tiny memory card, there was apparently a recording that could explain why my family had been destroyed.
I lowered my hands.
“Please.”
My voice was barely audible.
“Tell me what File 17 says.”
Sarah exchanged a glance with Harris.
Then she opened her laptop.
“The digital evidence team has recovered a longer portion of the recording. Some sections are damaged, but the conversation is becoming clearer.”
I leaned forward.
“Who is speaking?”
“Daniel Carter, Robert Carter, and a man believed to be Dr. Samuel Whitmore.”
My stomach twisted.
The doctor whose name appeared throughout Grace’s notebook.
The doctor who was supposedly dead.
The doctor connected to the mysterious clinic where Daniel took Lily when she was eight months old.
Sarah continued.
“The recording was made shortly after your delivery.”
I swallowed.
“And?”
She looked at me carefully.
“Emily, I need you to understand that the recording contains allegations and statements that still require medical and forensic verification.”
I nodded impatiently.
“Just tell me.”
Sarah pressed play.
At first, there was only static.
Then a man’s voice.
Robert Carter.
“What exactly did you authorize?”
A second voice answered.
Daniel.
“I did what Walter told me was necessary.”
Robert sounded furious.
“Necessary? You allowed them to separate two newborn children without their mother’s knowledge!”
My heart nearly stopped.
Then another voice entered.
Calm.
Professional.
Cold.
Dr. Whitmore.
“Mr. Carter, lower your voice. There were complications.”
Robert answered immediately.
“Don’t insult my intelligence, Samuel. I’ve seen the records.”
A pause.
Then Whitmore spoke.
“One infant required observation. The other did not.”
Robert’s voice hardened.
“Then why was the healthy infant the one you wanted to transfer?”
My hands began trembling.
I looked at Sarah.
“Healthy infant?”
She motioned gently toward the laptop.
The recording continued.
Daniel spoke again.
“That’s enough. Emily can’t know about the agreement.”
Robert snapped.
“Your wife has the right to know she delivered twins!”
Then came a loud noise.
Something striking a table.
Robert shouted:
“You’re treating these children like entries in a financial account!”
I pressed my hand over my mouth.
The recording crackled.
Then Whitmore’s voice returned.
“The initial medical procedure was performed without adequate authorization. If the hospital discovers the discrepancy, questions will be asked.”
Robert answered:
“Then let them ask!”
Daniel’s voice suddenly rose.
“You don’t understand what they’ll do to us!”
Robert shouted back.
“What about what you’ve done to those little girls?”
Then the recording stopped.
I sat completely still.
My entire body was shaking.
A medical procedure.
An authorization that should never have been granted.
My husband terrified of someone discovering it.
And two newborn daughters separated before I regained consciousness.
I slowly looked at Sarah.
“What procedure?”
Her expression tightened.
“We haven’t established the precise intervention from that recording alone.”
“Then find the doctor.”
“We’re reviewing his identity and reported death.”
I stared at her.
“Someone knows.”
Sarah nodded.
“Yes.”
I stood.
“Then someone needs to start talking.”
Before either detective could respond, Harris’s phone vibrated.
He read a message.
His expression changed.
“Sarah, there’s an update from the team interviewing Walter Brooks.”
My heart pounded.
“What?”
Harris looked at me.
“Walter has asked for legal counsel, but before ending the interview, he made a statement about the twins.”
I froze.
“What statement?”
Harris read from his notes.
“He said, ‘We didn’t take Grace because she was sick. We took her because Daniel couldn’t afford for the sisters to grow up together.’”
The room fell silent.
I stared at him.
“Couldn’t afford?”
Harris looked grim.
“The financial records may explain part of that.”
I shook my head.
“Four hundred thousand dollars? He sold our family for money?”
Sarah answered carefully.
“We’re investigating whether payments were tied to the custody arrangements.”
Then Harris continued.
“Walter also claimed that Nathan kept a separate set of files on the children.”
“What files?”
“Medical histories, identification records, and information about their families.”
I felt sick.
“And where are they?”
“He refused to say.”
I pressed a hand against my chest.
Then Harris added:
“But he mentioned one name.”
I looked up.
“Whose?”
“Dr. Whitmore.”
Again.
Every road led to that man.
I whispered, “He’s not dead, is he?”
Harris hesitated.
“We’ve uncovered inconsistencies surrounding the death record attributed to him.”
My stomach dropped.
“What inconsistencies?”
“The person identified in the original report may not have been Whitmore.”
I stared.
“So he could still be alive?”
“Yes.”
A chill ran down my spine.
And suddenly Grace’s notebook made terrible sense.
She had written that he visited her.
She had drawn his face.
She had remembered his name.
Because she might have been seeing the real doctor all along.
“Find him,” I whispered.
Harris nodded.
“We’re working on it.”
Then Sarah’s phone rang.
She stepped into the hallway.
When she returned, her expression had changed.
“Emily, there’s some good news.”
My heart jumped.
“Grace?”
She nodded.
“The medical team says she’s stable, and the child-protection specialists are arranging a carefully supported meeting.”
I stopped breathing.
“A meeting?”
“With you.”
I stared at her.
For several seconds, I couldn’t understand the words.
“Me?”
Sarah smiled gently.
“Yes.”
My knees weakened.
After six years.
After six birthdays.
After thousands of nights when I didn’t know there was another little girl somewhere waiting for me.
I might finally see my daughter.
“When?”
“As soon as the team confirms she’s comfortable and the arrangements are appropriate.”
I began crying.
“Does she know who I am?”
Sarah hesitated.
“She knows that people are trying to reconnect her with her family.”
I pressed both hands against my mouth.
My daughter.
My little Grace.
Somewhere in the same world I’d been living in all these years.
Breathing.
Growing.
Learning to read.
Losing baby teeth.
And I hadn’t been there for any of it.
I looked toward Lily’s room.
“Can Lily see her?”
“Eventually, that may be possible. But both girls need time and professional support.”
I nodded.
“Whatever they need.”
Because for the first time since the nightmare began, I understood something.
Finding Grace wasn’t the ending.
It was the beginning of helping her feel safe.
Helping Lily heal.
And rebuilding a family that had been torn apart before either child could understand what had happened.
But that hopeful moment lasted less than ten minutes.
Because Detective Harris returned carrying a new report.
His face was pale.
“Sarah, we need to discuss the medical records.”
My stomach tightened.
“What now?”
He sat across from me.
“Investigators have located archived materials from the private pediatric facility where Grace was transferred.”
I leaned forward.
“And?”
“Some entries appear inconsistent with the original hospital charts.”
My pulse quickened.
“What kind of entries?”
“Several describe assessments and procedures under identification numbers that don’t clearly match the children’s names.”
I stared at him.
“That sounds like a mistake.”
“It could be. We’re investigating.”
He turned a page.
“But one document refers to a research project.”
My stomach dropped.
“Research?”
“An experimental pediatric monitoring program funded through an organization connected to Evergreen.”
I felt cold.
“What kind of monitoring?”
“That’s not yet clear.”
I looked between them.
“Are you telling me my daughters were used in some kind of experiment?”
Sarah responded immediately.
“We do not have enough evidence to establish that. We’re investigating what the program actually involved, whether any interventions occurred, and whether valid consent existed.”
I swallowed.
But then Harris placed another page in front of me.
Near the top were two identification numbers.
TWIN A.
TWIN B.
My daughters.
Below them was a handwritten notation.
SUBJECT B — RELOCATION REQUIRED.
My heart stopped.
“Subject?”
I stared at the word.
Not daughter.
Not baby.
Not child.
Subject.
I looked up.
“They called my daughter a subject?”
Harris’s expression was grim.
“That’s what appears on this document.”
I began trembling.
“What does relocation required mean?”
“We’re investigating.”
I looked at the date.
Three days after my delivery.
The same day Grace had been taken from the hospital.
The same day Margaret apparently became involved in her guardianship.
The same day Daniel signed paperwork I had never seen.
I pressed my hand against my chest.
Then I noticed something at the bottom of the page.
A signature.
Dr. Samuel Whitmore.
And beside it, a second signature.
D. CARTER.
My husband.
I slowly looked up.
“He signed this.”
Harris nodded.
“The document bears his name and a signature. We’re verifying its authenticity.”
I stared at the paper.
There was no longer any way to pretend Daniel had simply been manipulated.
Even if Walter had threatened him.
Even if Nathan had pressured him.
Even if Margaret had helped hide everything.
Daniel had apparently participated.
He had signed.
He had lied.
He had watched me raise one daughter while another lived without her mother.
And he had continued smiling at me across the dinner table.
I felt something inside me harden.
The man I married was gone.
Maybe he’d never existed.
At seven forty that evening, my mother approached me.
She had been sitting quietly near Lily’s room for hours.
Her eyes were swollen.
“Emily?”
I turned.
“What?”
She swallowed.
“I know you don’t want to speak to me.”
I said nothing.
“But there’s something you should know about Nathan.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
She looked toward the hallway.
“Years ago, when I volunteered at Evergreen, Nathan used to bring children to the residential center.”
I stared.
“Children?”
She nodded.
“Some were there for legitimate temporary care. Others… I began to notice their paperwork didn’t make sense.”
I felt sick.
“What did you do?”
“I questioned the director.”
“And?”
“He told me I was misunderstanding the records.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Everyone misunderstood.
Everyone was confused.
Everyone was told not to ask questions.
My mother continued.
“One afternoon, I saw a little girl sitting by herself in the playroom.”
My chest tightened.
“Grace?”
She nodded.
“I didn’t know who she was then.”
I stared at her.
“How old?”
“About two.”
I began shaking.
“She was crying. She kept asking for her sister.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks.
My little girl.
Two years old.
Calling for Lily.
My mother covered her mouth.
“I asked one of the staff members about her.”
“What did they say?”
“They told me she had been transferred from another facility.”
I stared.
“And you believed them?”
“At first.”
My voice broke.
“Then what?”
She began crying.
“Then I saw her photograph in a file.”
“What file?”
“A family placement report.”
I swallowed.
“And?”
“Her birth mother’s name was listed as Emily Carter.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I whispered:
“You saw my name.”
My mother nodded.
“And you said nothing.”
Her shoulders shook.
“I was terrified.”
I looked away.
I couldn’t bear to hear that word again.
Terrified.
Everyone had been terrified.
Except my daughters, who had apparently been expected to endure everything without anyone protecting them.
I wiped my face.
“You should have called me.”
“I know.”
“You should have gone to the police.”
“I know.”
“You should have brought her home.”
My mother began sobbing.
“I know.”
I looked at her.
“Knowing doesn’t give me those years back.”
She lowered her head.
And for the first time, I realized I no longer needed her explanation.
I needed her cooperation.
“Tell Detective Collins everything,” I said.
“Every name. Every address. Every document you remember. Don’t leave anything out.”
She nodded.
“I will.”
I stepped away.
Then she whispered:
“Emily, there’s one more person you need to know about.”
I stopped.
“Who?”
“A woman named Dr. Evelyn Mercer.”
I turned.
“What?”
“She was a pediatric specialist associated with Evergreen. She left suddenly after Robert died.”
My heart pounded.
“Why?”
“She told me she couldn’t stay somewhere children were being treated like property.”
I stared at my mother.
“Is she alive?”
“Yes. I think so.”
“Where?”
“She moved to Spokane.”
I immediately went to Detective Collins.
Within minutes, investigators began looking for Dr. Mercer.
Because somewhere out there was a medical professional who might know what really happened to my daughters.
And I was done accepting silence.
At eight fifty-three that evening, Detective Harris returned.
“We located Dr. Mercer.”
My heart jumped.
“Will she talk?”
“She has agreed to speak with investigators.”
I pressed my hands together.
“Thank God.”
Harris looked serious.
“Emily, she recognized both children’s names.”
My stomach tightened.
“Lily and Grace?”
He nodded.
“And she asked whether Grace was safe.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“What did she say about Lily?”
Harris hesitated.
“She said she had been worried about her for years.”
I felt cold.
“Worried about what?”
“She hasn’t provided her full statement yet.”
I began shaking.
“Please.”
Harris looked at Sarah.
Then back at me.
“She said there was a concern about Lily’s medical records being deliberately altered.”
I stared.
“Altered?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Dr. Mercer believes the original records may contain information about an improper treatment decision.”
My heart pounded.
“What treatment?”
Harris shook his head.
“We need the medical specialists to review the documents before we can characterize it.”
I turned toward Lily’s room.
The doctor who examined her had found something concerning.
We had assumed it meant someone had recently harmed her.
And that concern still needed a proper investigation.
But now there might also be a separate medical history nobody had ever told me about.
I felt sick.
Had Daniel been hiding two different things?
A secret from her birth.
And whatever had happened to her more recently?
Then Sarah’s phone vibrated.
She read the message.
Her expression changed.
“Emily, there’s another development.”
My heart pounded.
“What?”
“Investigators have obtained an additional recording connected to File 17.”
I froze.
“Another recording?”
She nodded.
“This one appears to have been made during a meeting several months after your daughters were born.”
I swallowed.
“Who’s speaking?”
“Daniel and Dr. Whitmore.”
My stomach tightened.
Sarah continued.
“Whitmore asks why Lily wasn’t brought back for follow-up.”
I stared at her.
“And Daniel?”
“He says you were asking too many questions about the appointments.”
I shook my head.
“I never asked about appointments. I didn’t even know there was a problem.”
Sarah looked at the transcript.
“Then Whitmore says something important.”
I leaned forward.
“What?”
Her voice became quieter.
“He tells Daniel that if Lily ever develops unexplained symptoms, a physician needs access to her complete medical history.”
I stared at her.
“Symptoms?”
Sarah nodded.
“He specifically warns Daniel not to conceal the records.”
I began trembling.
“Why would he say that?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Then Harris spoke.
“There’s a final line.”
I looked at him.
He took a breath.
“Daniel asks whether Lily might remember anything.”
The room went silent.
I stared.
“Remember?”
Harris nodded.
“Whitmore responds that he cannot predict what memories a child might retain as she grows.”
My blood ran cold.
I looked toward Lily’s room.
Her frightened eyes.
Her refusal to go home.
Her fear of Daniel.
The secret rooms.
The lake house.
And the pain that had brought her to the hospital.
Everything seemed connected.
But I still couldn’t see how.
I whispered:
“What did Daniel do to her?”
Sarah spoke gently.
“Emily, we need to distinguish what happened in infancy from any more recent harm. The medical team is continuing Lily’s evaluation.”
I nodded.
But my body wouldn’t stop shaking.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I showed Sarah.
She signaled for me to answer with investigators present.
“Hello?”
For a moment, there was silence.
Then a man’s voice.
Low.
Calm.
Unfamiliar.
“Emily Carter?”
I swallowed.
“Who is this?”
The man exhaled.
“My name is Samuel Whitmore.”
My heart stopped.
The doctor.
The man who was supposed to be dead.
The man whose name appeared throughout Grace’s notebook.
The man who might know exactly what happened to my daughters.
I stared at Detective Collins.
She immediately became alert.
“Dr. Whitmore?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
My hands began trembling.
“Where are you?”
“That isn’t important right now.”
“It is to the police.”
He paused.
Then spoke quietly.
“I know the police are looking for me.”
I swallowed.
“Then turn yourself in.”
Another pause.
“I intend to speak to investigators. But first, I need you to understand something.”
My heart pounded.
“What?”
“Your husband wasn’t protecting Grace from a medical condition.”
I froze.
“Then why did he take her?”
Whitmore’s voice became strained.
“Because her records were linked to a second patient’s file.”
I stared.
“What second patient?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Then whispered:
“Lily.”
My stomach twisted.
“They were twins. Of course their records were connected.”
“No, Mrs. Carter. Not like this.”
I pressed my hand against my chest.
“Explain.”
He took a shaky breath.
“Six years ago, your husband authorized a private clinical intervention that should never have proceeded without proper independent review and consent.”
My hands turned cold.
“On which child?”
Silence.
“Doctor, which child?”
His voice cracked.
“That’s what I have spent six years trying to correct.”
I looked at Sarah.
She was listening intently.
Then Whitmore continued.
“After the intervention, someone altered the identification entries in the program’s records.”
My breathing stopped.
“Someone mixed up the babies?”
“In the research records, yes. I don’t have evidence that the children themselves were switched.”
I covered my mouth.
“What does that mean?”
“It means the records became unreliable. Medical decisions may have been based on incorrect information, and the people responsible concealed that instead of reporting it.”
I felt sick.
“And Grace?”
“She was moved because her presence would expose the discrepancy.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“Where does Lily fit into this?”
Whitmore went quiet.
Then he asked:
“Has she been experiencing unexplained pain?”
My blood ran cold.
I looked toward the hospital room.
“Yes.”
A long silence followed.
Then he whispered:
“Has she been examined by an independent pediatric specialist?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
His relief frightened me.
I forced myself to speak.
“Doctor, why are you asking?”
He inhaled sharply.
“Because the complete records may reveal a medical issue that was never properly followed up.”
I pressed my hand against my mouth.
“Are you saying my daughter’s pain is connected to what happened when she was a baby?”
“I can’t establish that over the telephone. She needs proper medical evaluation, and investigators need the original records.”
I began crying.
“Then give them the records!”
“I will.”
“Where are they?”
A pause.
“There’s a secure archive.”
My heart pounded.
“Where?”
He hesitated.
Then said:
“Evergreen kept copies of everything.”
I stared at Sarah.
She immediately signaled to Harris.
Whitmore continued.
“Not only your daughters’ records. The other children too.”
My stomach dropped.
“How many?”
He didn’t answer.
“Doctor, how many children?”
His voice became almost inaudible.
“More than you think.”
A chill ran down my spine.
Then I heard a noise in the background.
A door opening.
Whitmore stopped speaking.
“Doctor?”
Silence.
“Dr. Whitmore?”
His breathing changed.
“Someone’s here.”
My heart hammered.
“Who?”
He whispered:
“I have to go.”
“WAIT!”
But before he disconnected, he said something that made my entire body go cold.
“Emily, whatever you do, don’t let Daniel convince you that Lily’s recent fear is just a medical problem. Those are two separate questions, and both deserve the truth.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
Two separate questions.
What happened to Lily when she was a baby?
And what had happened to her recently that made her terrified of going home?
I slowly turned toward Detective Collins.
She looked as shaken as I felt.
“Emily, we need to make sure Whitmore’s information reaches the medical team.”
I nodded.
Then Harris’s phone vibrated.
He read the screen.
His face changed.
“Sarah, we have a breakthrough.”
She turned.
“What?”
“The evidence team has found the original index for the medical files.”
My heart pounded.
“And?”
“There are two folders listed under Lily’s identification number.”
I froze.
“Two?”
Harris nodded.
“One is labeled neonatal treatment.”
I swallowed.
“And the other?”
He looked at me.
His expression was grave.
“RECENT INCIDENT REPORT — ACCESS RESTRICTED.”
My entire body went cold.
“Recent?”
Harris nodded.
“The date is three weeks ago.”
I stopped breathing.
Three weeks.
The same time Lily began having nightmares.
The same time she refused to sit beside Daniel.
The same time she started begging me to leave her bedroom door open.
I stared at the detectives.
And suddenly, I remembered something.
Three weeks earlier, I’d gone with my mother to a medical appointment.
Daniel stayed home with Lily.
When I returned, she was already asleep.
At seven in the evening.
Daniel said she’d worn herself out playing.
Then something similar happened the following week.
My stomach twisted.
I looked at Harris.
“What does the report say?”
He swallowed.
“The file is encrypted. The investigators are working to recover it.”
I grabbed the table.
“Who created it?”
Harris looked at the metadata.
Then his expression changed.
“Sarah…”
She leaned forward.
“What?”
He turned the screen toward her.
I watched her face go pale.
“What?” I demanded.
Harris looked directly at me.
“The report was uploaded from a computer registered to Daniel Carter.”
My heart stopped.
“And the person who authorized the upload?”
He hesitated.
Then whispered:
“Margaret Carter.”
I stared toward the hospital room.
My mother was sitting beside Lily.
My daughter was coloring peacefully.
For the first time in days, she looked almost happy.
Then I noticed something.
She had drawn another picture.
A little house.
A black door.
A girl standing outside.
And beside the girl, a man with no face.
I felt a chill crawl down my spine.
Because underneath the drawing, Lily had written four words.
“HE KNOWS I REMEMBER.”
And at that exact moment, my phone vibrated.
A final message from Daniel.
DANIEL: Emily, you have no idea what Lily saw three weeks ago.
TO BE CONTINUED — PART 11: WHAT MY DAUGHTER SAW BEHIND THE LOCKED DOOR
“Emily, you have no idea what Lily saw three weeks ago.”
I stared at Daniel’s message until the letters blurred.
My daughter was sitting less than twenty feet away, drawing pictures with purple crayons while an entire investigation unfolded around her.
She was six years old.
She should have been worrying about spelling tests, missing crayons, and whether the tooth fairy remembered her address.
Instead, she was drawing locked doors and faceless men.
And beneath her latest picture, she had written four words that made my blood run cold.
HE KNOWS I REMEMBER.
Detective Sarah Collins stood beside me.
“Emily, don’t respond to your husband.”
I barely heard her.
“Three weeks ago,” I whispered. “That’s when everything changed.”
Sarah looked at me.
“What do you remember?”
I closed my eyes.
Three weeks earlier, I had taken my mother to a medical appointment.
Daniel had unexpectedly volunteered to stay with Lily.
When I returned, our daughter was asleep at seven in the evening.
He said she’d exhausted herself playing.
The following week, something similar happened.
Afterward, Lily started having nightmares.
She refused to let Daniel carry her upstairs.
She insisted on leaving her bedroom door open.
And then came the evening she cried in the bathtub.
I opened my eyes.
“Whatever happened, Daniel knows.”
Sarah nodded.
“That’s why we need the recent incident report.”
Detective Michael Harris entered carrying his laptop.
“The digital team recovered part of the encrypted file.”
My heart nearly stopped.
“What does it say?”
He sat across from us.
“The report was created twenty-two days ago and appears to document an incident at the Lake Tapps property.”
I grabbed the edge of the table.
“Lily was there?”
“Her name appears in the document.”
My stomach turned.
Daniel had told me he was taking our daughter to feed ducks.
He’d bought her strawberry ice cream.
He’d shown me photographs of a lake.
And all along, he might have been taking her to a house where other children were hidden.
Harris continued.
“The document contains references to Grace, Sophie, Daniel, Margaret, and Nathan.”
I stared at him.
“What happened?”
He looked at Sarah.
Then back at me.
“According to the recovered section, Lily unexpectedly entered a restricted office during a visit.”
My breathing stopped.
“What did she see?”
Harris swallowed.
“A computer displaying records connected to the children’s placements.”
I frowned.
“My six-year-old daughter wouldn’t understand those records.”
“Probably not. But the report describes an argument that followed.”
My hands tightened.
“Between whom?”
“Daniel and Nathan.”
A silence settled over the room.
Harris continued.
“An entry states that Lily witnessed Nathan threatening another adult who was attempting to retrieve documents.”
I felt cold.
“Who was the adult?”
“The report identifies a maintenance worker.”
Thomas Reed.
The man who had tried to warn me.
The man who had heard children crying behind locked doors.
The man who’d been fired after reporting his concerns.
My heart pounded.
“Was Thomas hurt?”
“He’s alive and cooperating with investigators. We’re confirming the account.”
I pressed a hand against my mouth.
“And Lily?”
Harris turned another page.
“According to the report, she became distressed. She repeatedly asked to go home.”
My eyes filled with tears.
Then he read the next line.
READ ENDING HERE ⤵️👇
