The first photograph made my stomach turn; by the tenth, I was gripping my desk to keep my anger under control. The little girl in those images had spent years hiding what her powerful guardian was doing behind closed doors—but when her doctor searched the purse he had given her, she found something far more dangerous than the tracking device he used to monitor her.

The air in Reyes's office went deathly still. Reyes instantly flicked a switch on her desk, initiating a federal trace on the incoming cellular signal.

"Thomas," I said calmly, keeping my voice entirely devoid of emotion. "You're calling late."

A soft, amused chuckle answered through the speaker. "I’m a busy man, Marcus. It takes time to gather intelligence when someone slips into your house and removes something that doesn't belong to them."

"Natalie doesn't belong to you, Thomas," I said coldly. "She’s a human being. A ten-year-old child."

"Natalie is my legal ward, appointed by the State of Illinois," Caldwell corrected, his tone shifting into something terrifyingly sharp. "Her care, her education, and her safety are my sole responsibility. Unfortunately, Dr. Mitchell seems to have committed a severe violation of medical ethics tonight by abducting my daughter from my estate."

"She didn't abduct her," I replied. "Natalie ran away from a monster. I’ve seen the photographs, Thomas. I’ve seen her ribs. I’ve seen her face."

A long pause hung over the line. When Caldwell spoke again, his voice was no longer that of a charming philanthropist. It was the voice of a predator who owned everything he touched.

"Photographs can be framed, Marcus. Medical records can be manufactured by ambitious doctors looking for publicity. And as for the little electronic gift inside her purse... well, I’m sure a skilled attorney like you knows that illegally recorded audio is entirely inadmissible in any court in the state of Illinois."

"We aren't in a state court, Thomas," I said softly, looking at Agent Reyes as she nodded firmly.

Caldwell laughed again, a dark, raspy sound. "Do you really think the federal building is going to save you, Marcus? Do you think a couple of junior FBI agents are going to take down a man who built the very foundations this city stands on? Let me tell you what is going to happen."

He leaned closer to his microphone.

"In forty-five minutes, State’s Attorney Richard Sterling is holding an emergency press conference at police headquarters. He will announce that Dr. Lauren Mitchell is wanted for the kidnapping of a vulnerable juvenile. He will announce that you, Marcus Vance, are being investigated as an accessory to an extortion scheme. And by sunrise, my private security detail will have custody of Natalie."

"You try to touch that child, Thomas," I said, my jaw locked so tight my teeth burned, "and I will personally release every single audio file in my possession to every news outlet in the country."

"Go ahead," Caldwell purred. "Release them. The media is owned by my investment group. The servers will be taken down for copyright infringement within three minutes. You’re playing chess against a man who owns the board, Marcus. Bring the girl back to my estate by 2:00 AM, and I might let Dr. Mitchell keep her medical license. Keep her... and you will both watch your lives crumble to dust."

The line went dead.

Lauren collapsed into an armchair, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "He’s going to turn us into criminals. He’s turning the whole system against us."

Reyes stared at her trace monitor. "The call originated from his private penthouse in Gold Coast. But he wasn't bluffing about Sterling. My contacts at CPD just confirmed that the State’s Attorney’s office is drafting an emergency Amber Alert for Natalie Caldwell, naming Lauren as the abductor."

I walked over to the desk, grabbed the encrypted drive, and looked at Reyes.

"Sarah," I said, "how fast can you get a federal judge to issue a protective custody writ for a material witness in a grand jury investigation?"

Reyes looked at me, her grey eyes burning. "If I call Judge William Evans at his home right now... twenty minutes. But Evans will demand that the child be brought directly into federal custody. No private safehouses. No exceptions."

"Where?" I asked.

"The federal marshals' safehouse in Highwood," Reyes said, pulling a set of keys from her drawer. "It’s secure, air-gapped, and outside the jurisdiction of the Chicago Police Department."