Chapter 5 - The Hunted
Julian’s prediction proved terrifyingly accurate. Three days into my isolation at a secure apartment complex in North County, the paranoia became physical. Every car that slowed down on the street below felt like a threat. Every shadow in the hallway made my stomach clench.
My mother tried to contact me through intermediaries. First, it was a floral arrangement delivered to the safe house—meaning they had already found me. The card read: Let’s settle this as a family, Claire. Think of your father's health. Ten million dollars is waiting for you in a trust if you just sign the adoption papers.
They thought everything had a price. They thought my daughter could be bought like a piece of commercial real estate.
That night, the electricity to my unit suddenly died.
"Sarah," I whispered into the darkness, reaching for my new phone. "The power went out."
"Stay low, Claire," Sarah’s voice came back, tight with alarm. "The building manager didn't report any maintenance. I'm calling the police."
Before she could finish, the heavy glass window of my third-story balcony shattered inward. A heavy brick, wrapped in a piece of paper, crashed onto the hardwood floor. Outside, the screech of tires echoed down the alleyway as a dark sedan sped away.
With a trembling hand, I turned on my phone’s flashlight and walked toward the brick. I picked up the paper. Written in the neat, elegant cursive my mother had used to write my childhood lunch notes was a single sentence:
Dead daughters don't win custody.
May you like
I sat in the dark, surrounded by shattered glass, clutching the paper to my chest. The fear that had kept me compliant for most of my life—the fear of my father's wrath, of my mother's icy disapproval—died in that moment. It was replaced by a cold, glittering hatred. They had tried to erase me in Death Valley, and now they were trying to terrorize me in my own city.
They wanted a monster? I would show them what a mother became when you tried to steal her child.
