Chapter 2: The Photograph With the Red Circle
Four years, three months, and eleven days.
That was how long Damon Vale had been searching.
I know because the woman who told me was standing in my kitchen when I came home from the daycare — holding a photograph I had never meant to leave behind.
My neighbor Ruth.
Sweet, quiet Ruth who brought casseroles when I had the flu and never once asked where I came from.
She set the photo on the table without a word.
It was from the Gold Coast mansion.
A charity gala.
Damon and I, two years into our marriage, my hand resting in his.
Someone had circled my face in red pen.
"A man came through town this morning," Ruth said quietly.
"Asking questions.
Showing this around."
My blood went cold.
"He had a company badge," she added.
"Vale Industries."
From the back room, I heard my son laugh at something on the television.
Lucas.
Four years old.
Dark eyes exactly like his father's.
I pressed my hand flat against the table to stop the shaking.
"Did he see Lucas?"
Ruth looked at me for a long moment.
"No," she said.
"But he's coming back tomorrow."
I couldn't move.
Because I knew what that meant.
Damon hadn't sent someone to apologize.
Damon Vale didn't apologize.
He sent people to collect what he believed belonged to him.
---
What Damon's man found when he returned the next morning was something no one in that town will ever forget.
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