“Empty your pockets.” I heard myself say it and immediately wished I could take it back. The words sounded harsh, metallic, and utterly foreign coming out of my mouth, echoing against the cold marble countertops of my Weston kitchen.

The front door slammed shut, cutting off the sound of Vanessa’s hysterical shrieks as Marcus escorted her off the property.

Arthur Pendelton closed his briefcase with a heavy, satisfying click. “The criminal complaint for child endangerment, assault, and framing a felony has already been filed with the Middlesex County District Attorney’s office, Andrew. With the audio recording and the toxicology report from the lab, Vanessa will be facing formal indictment by Monday morning.”

“I don't care about Vanessa right now, Arthur,” I said, turning to him with a frantic urgency that made the veteran attorney blink in surprise. “Where is Emma?”

Arthur sighed, pulling a document from his pocket. “I checked the public records and the agency filings after you called me. Emma Reed gave up her apartment lease in Somerville three days ago when she took the live-in position here. She has no local family. When you fired her on Wednesday, she left with one canvas suitcase.”

My heart seized in my chest. “She has nowhere to go?”

“According to her background check,” Arthur explained, “her only living relative is an aunt who runs a small bed-and-breakfast in Gloucester. But Andrew... she has no money. Her final paycheck wasn't processed because of the theft allegation.”

I grabbed my heavy coat off the brass rack in the hall, my mind racing through every terrible detail of the last forty-eight hours. She had stood in my kitchen in the pouring rain, accused of a felony, stripped of her dignity, fired without pay, and cast out into the storm—all while trying to save my children from being poisoned.

“Marcus!” I called out as my security chief walked back inside through the front door.

“She’s gone, Andrew,” Marcus reported, wiping raindrops from his jacket. “Vanessa’s driver took her straight to her parents' estate in Wellesley. Our officers are stationed at the gate.”

“Forget Vanessa,” I barked, pulling my car keys from my pocket. “I need you to trace Emma Reed’s cell phone location. Right now.”

Marcus pulled out his tactical tablet. “Give me two minutes. Since she was registered under your household employee safety protocol, her phone’s emergency GPS ping is still linked to our internal server.”

I stood in the foyer, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Upstairs, the faint sound of my children’s bedroom door opening echoed down the hall.

Owen, Noah, and Lily walked slowly down the stairs, clutching the white wooden railing. They looked down at me, their small faces pale, waiting.

“Is the bad lady gone, Dad?” Lily whispered.

I walked to the foot of the stairs, looking up at my children with tears burning behind my eyes. “She’s gone, sweetheart. She’s never, ever coming back.”

“Are you going to find Emma now?” Owen asked.

“I am,” I swore to them. “I’m not coming home without her.”

Marcus looked up from his screen, his brow furrowed. “Got a ping, Andrew. Her phone is active, but it’s moving slowly. It’s located at a shelter intake facility near South Station in Boston.”

A shelter. A twenty-four-year-old girl with a college degree, forced to spend the night in a homeless shelter because I was too blind, too arrogant, and too obsessed with my own status to see the truth.

“Keep her location tracked,” I told Marcus, turning toward the garage door. “I’m going to Boston.”

“I’m coming with you,” Marcus said, grabbing his keys. “You shouldn't be driving in this storm in the state you’re in.”

As we ran out into the pouring rain toward the heavy SUV, I looked back at the front porch. Marlene, our housekeeper, was standing near the doorway, her face pale, holding her hands tightly together.

She met my gaze for a fraction of a second, then quickly looked down at the floor.