The hospital called me before midnight and told me my six-year-old son was dying.

While Madison wept in her cell, I walked down the hall to Interrogation Room A.

Unlike my sister, my mother did not look broken. Helen Carter sat perfectly upright in her chair, her hands folded neatly on the metal table. She had refused water. She had refused a lawyer, claiming she didn't need one because "this misunderstanding would be cleared up shortly."

She looked up as the door opened, her eyes narrowing as she saw me step inside. Detective Miller tried to pull me back, but I shook him off. I needed to look her in the eyes.

"Emily," she said, her voice smooth, devoid of any panic. "Look at you. You look like a street person. Is this how they teach you to present yourself at your fancy corporate conferences?"

"Where is Leo Vance, Helen?" I asked, my voice deadly quiet. I didn't call her mother. She didn't deserve the title.

Helen smiled, a tiny, chilling upturn of her lips. "I don't know what you're talking about, dear. If some neighborhood boy wandered into my yard years ago, that's hardly my concern. And as for your son... he was always a clumsy child. He must have fallen down the cellar stairs while playing. I was trying to help him."

"We found the video," I said, leaning over the table, forcing her to look at me. "The neighbor's security camera caught you dragging him by his hair toward that shed. We have the logs from the basement. We have your handwriting, Helen. You wrote about me. You wrote about Noah. You kept records of your torture."

For a fraction of a second, a flicker of genuine rage flashed in her cold blue eyes. Her fingers tightened against each other, the knuckles turning white. But she quickly masked it with her mask of aristocratic disdain.

"You always were an ungrateful little bitch," she whispered, her voice dropping to a venomous hiss. "I gave you life. I kept you safe from a world that would have eaten you alive. I taught you discipline. And how did you repay me? You ran away to Denver. You married that useless soldier. You had that weak, whining brat."

She leaned in, her face inches from mine.

"You think you've won, Emily? You think some local cops can hold me? I know the people who run this city. I know the judges, the district attorneys, the men who make the laws. I have things on them that would ruin their lives in a heartbeat. By tomorrow morning, I will be out of here, and you will be left with nothing."

"You're wrong," I said. "The FBI just took over the case. Leo Vance's disappearance makes this a kidnapping involving a suspected federal crime. Your 'friends' in Dallas can't save you from a federal grand jury."