Chapter 1 - The Weight of Justice
Dr. Annabelle Foss guided me into a private, windowless consultation room. The sterile smell of bleach and isopropyl alcohol felt like it was burning the inside of my lungs. She didn't sit behind her desk; she sat right next to me, her hand resting near my clenched fist, where the silver locket was still biting into my skin.
"The chain marks around Brinley's ankle are recent, within the last few weeks," Dr. Foss said, her voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "But the X-rays show older, poorly healed fractures in her left collarbone and two ribs. They are at least two to three years old. There are also signs of severe, prolonged psychological deprivation. She has a flattened affect, meaning she doesn't express emotion because she has learned that crying brings no relief—or worse, brings punishment."
My world didn't just shatter; it turned into jagged glass. "Two or three years ago... I was sending six hundred dollars a month specifically for her gymnastics and private tutoring. Gail sent me a video of a little girl on a balance beam. It was blurry, but she said..." My voice died in my throat. The realization hit me like a physical blow. The videos were fake. The photos were recycled or staged.
Before I could collapse into my own grief, the door opened and Detective Vance and Officer Tatum Briggs stepped inside. Vance looked grim, his notebook already flipped open.
"Ms. Miller," Detective Vance said gently. "We’ve secured the Merritt residence. Crime scene investigators are processing the basement as we speak. We found ledger books in Gail Merritt’s home office. Your monthly wires were deposited directly into a high-yield savings account under Gail and Holt's names. None of it was spent on Brinley. But we need to ask you about Derek."
"Derek didn't know," I stammered, trying to find my bearings. "Or... he said he didn't know. He told me his parents had it handled."
"We checked his phone records from the past two hours," Officer Briggs interjected. "The moment you hung up on him from the house, Derek didn't call 911. He didn't call the local police. He made a direct maritime satellite call to the cruise ship Caribbean Star. He called his mother."
A cold, lethal focus took over my mind, suppressing the urge to scream. They were a pack of wolves, and they were already trying to cover their tracks.
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"Where is he?" I asked, my voice suddenly devoid of all warmth.
"We have a unit waiting at his apartment now," Detective Vance said. "But more importantly, the Coast Guard has been notified. The cruise ship has a port of call in Nassau tomorrow morning. The FBI is coordinating with Bahamian authorities. Gail and Holt Merritt aren't going to finish their vacation."
