Chapter 2 - The Sovereign BadgeThe glass in the front door rattled as another heavy fist struck the wood. Outside, the engine of the county SUV idled with a low, menacing rumble that seemed to vibrate straight through the floorboards.
"Ethan!" the voice called out again, sharper this time, losing its rehearsed patience. "I know you're in there. We saw the SUV. Open the door before this becomes an official matter."
I stood frozen in the center of the study, the open blue file heavy in my hands. The photograph of Olivia—smiling, radiant, holding two tiny infants swaddled in yellow blankets—seemed to defy reality. She had been dead for three years. The girls in the doorway were no older than six. The timeline was a jagged piece of glass that didn’t fit, yet there her handwriting was, looping and familiar across the documents beneath the photo.
"Emma, Ella," I whispered, keeping my voice dropped to a low murmur. "Go into the master closet. The one behind the mirror. Do you remember the hidden latch I showed you when we first walked through?"
Emma nodded rapidly, her face pale as milk. She grabbed Ella’s hand, and the two of them moved like shadows, slipping into the bedroom without a sound.
I shoved the blue file under the leather blotter on the desk, took a deep, steadying breath, and walked out to the living room. I didn't turn on the lights. The late afternoon sun was dying, casting long, bruised shadows across the hardwood. I unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the heavy cedar door open just a few inches.
Standing on the porch was a tall man in a tan sheriff's department uniform. His badge, pinned precisely over his left breast pocket, caught the fading light. He had a square jaw, close-cropped graying hair, and eyes that moved like a hawk’s—restless, calculating, and completely devoid of warmth. His hand rested naturally, comfortably, on the butt of his sidearm.
"Can I help you, Deputy?" I asked, keeping my tone perfectly level, the voice of a grieving city lawyer just trying to liquidate a dead wife's estate.
The man smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Deputy Miller, Mr. Vance. I didn't mean to startle you. We received a report of two runaway children spotted near the old logging road about a mile back. Missing from a state-supervised home down in the valley. We tracked some footprints leading up toward your perimeter."
"Is that so?" I leaned against the doorframe, deliberately blocking his view of the interior. "I haven't seen anyone. I just got up here an hour ago to finalize the sale papers for the property. It’s been empty for three years."
Miller shifted his weight, his boots creaking against Olivia's porch boards. His eyes drifted past my shoulder, trying to peer into the darkened living room. "Mind if I take a quick look around inside? Just to make sure they didn't slip through a back window or break into the basement? It’s a matter of child safety, Mr. Vance."
"I do mind, actually," I said smoothly. "I've just locked the place down, and as a lawyer, I'm sure you understand I can't let law enforcement conduct a warrantless search of a private residence without probable cause. If I see any sign of children on the property, I’ll be sure to call the station."
Miller’s smile vanished. The polite facade dropped away, revealing something cold and dangerous underneath. He stepped closer, entering my personal space, the scent of cheap tobacco and stale coffee rolling off him.
"Let's not play games, Vance," Miller said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You don't know what you're stepping into. Those girls belong to the state. Their mother is a fugitive, and anyone harboring them is committing a federal offense. I’m giving you a chance to walk away clean. Don't let your dead wife's ghosts ruin what's left of your life."
My heart hammered against my ribs, but my face remained a mask of stone. He knows about Olivia, I thought. He knows she was involved.
"Have a good evening, Deputy," I said, and closed the door firmly in his face.
May you like
I threw the deadbolt, turned the security latch, and drew the heavy curtains closed. Outside, after a tense, agonizing minute of silence, I heard Miller’s boots march down the steps. The SUV’s engine roared to life, tires gravel-crunching as he backed out of the driveway. But he didn't leave the mountain. As I watched through a slit in the blinds, the vehicle parked at the crossroads a quarter-mile down—a dark sentinel waiting in the shadows.
We were trapped.
