“Grandma, how come I’m the only one who doesn’t have a bedroom?”

The beam of a high-powered tactical flashlight swept across the basement wall, missing me by barely three feet as I scrambled backward behind a towering stack of metal shelving. My heart hammered against my ribs like a jackhammer.

"I know someone's in here!" the voice shouted again—rough, booming, and unmistakably belonging to Arthur Hayes, Gail’s younger brother and the custodian of the building. "The security alert tripped on my phone the second you forced the alley latch. You're locked in, buddy. The exterior deadbolt auto-engages at 4:00 AM."

I stared down at the document in my hand, then at my phone. If Arthur caught me down here with Henderson’s files, he would call the deputies, I’d be arrested for trespassing and burglary, and the physical evidence would be confiscated as tainted property before Clara could even file it with the court. Gail would win before the sun even came up.

I had to move. Now.

I shoved the original document inside my jacket, buttoning it tight against my chest, and scrambled down the opposite aisle toward the rear of the basement, where a small coal chute led up to an alleyway behind the building. The chute was narrow—barely wide enough for a grown man to squeeze through—but as I shone my flashlight up it, I could see the pale gray light of dawn filtering through the iron grate at the top.

"Hey! Stop right there!" Arthur roared, his heavy footsteps crunching closer down the main aisle as he spotted the open archive box on the floor.

I didn't look back. I lunged forward, grabbing the lower edge of the metal coal chute, hoisted myself up, and began wriggling upward like a chimney sweep, the rough stone scraping against my shoulders and tearing my jacket.

"Damn it!" Arthur yelled from below. I heard the sound of him lunging toward the ladder, but I was already kicking upward with all my might against the rusted iron grate of the chute.

With a loud *clank*, the rusted latch gave way, and the grate popped open into the wet, falling snow of the alleyway.

I hauled myself out of the hole, tumbling headfirst onto the slippery cobblestones of the alley, gasping for freezing air. I rolled to my feet, ignoring the stinging scrapes on my hands and knees, and broke into a dead sprint through the blinding snow just as Arthur’s face appeared in the open coal chute behind me, shouting curses into the winter wind.

Ten minutes later, I slammed open the door of the county CYS family consultation room, panting, covered in coal dust and snow, looking like I’d just crawled out of a grave.

Lauren jumped up from her chair with a cry of alarm, and Norah dropped her stuffed rabbit.

"Todd! My God, what happened to you?" Lauren gasped, rushing over to grab my torn jacket.

Before I could answer, the heavy double doors of the office swung open, and Investigator Vance walked in, flanked by a tall, stern-looking man in a dark tailored suit carrying a leather briefcase.

"Mr. Miller," Vance said, her voice entirely flat. "Judge Whitaker’s chambers just opened. We have to go into the courtroom now for the emergency custody hearing. Gail Hayes and her attorney are already inside."

I looked down at Lauren, then reached slowly inside my torn jacket, pulled out the slightly crumpled, damp parchment paper bearing the gold state seal, and held it out for her to see.