"My husband punched my pregnant sister in the stomach, and thank God he did. My husband walked up to my eight-month pregnant sister during her baby shower and punched her full force in the stomach. She folded in half and crashed backward into the gift table while 50 guests screamed.

Back at the county precinct, the fluorescent lights of interrogation room B buzzed with a dull, sickening hum. Chloe sat across from Detective Reynolds, her floral dress still rumpled, her wrists handcuffed to the heavy steel table.

Her face was pale, but her demeanor had shifted from hysterical terror into cold, calculated defiance. Her high-priced defense attorney, secured through a frantic emergency retainer paid from the stolen family funds, sat beside her.

"My client has nothing to say," the attorney announced, tapping a manicured pen on the table. "This entire circus is the result of an unprovoked, brutal physical assault committed by David Vance. My client suffered blunt force abdominal trauma and severe psychological distress. We intend to file felony assault charges immediately."

Detective Reynolds didn't blink. He calmly opened a black leather folder and laid down three full-color photographs.

The first was the nursery checklist. The second was the stack of forged birth certificates. The third was the security footage of Chloe tracking Maya through the hospital parking garage, measuring the distance to the service elevator with a digital rangefinder.

"Your client is looking at eighteen counts," Reynolds said, his voice as smooth as dry sand. "Federal wire fraud for the GoFundMe campaign. First-degree grand larceny for thirty-two thousand dollars stolen from family members under fraudulent medical pretenses. Identity theft. And most importantly, conspiracy to commit first-degree kidnapping of a newborn infant."

Chloe didn't flinch. She leaned forward, the handcuffs rattling against the steel ring.

"You don't understand anything," Chloe hissed, ignoring her lawyer's frantic hand gesture to remain silent. "You think you’ve won? You think that little addict is going to keep that baby? Maya Davis doesn't even have a bed! She sleeps on a pull-out mattress in an apartment with three parolees! Her ex-boyfriend, Damon, is a gang member who owes twenty thousand dollars to loan sharks!"

Reynolds’ eyes narrowed. "What does Damon have to do with this?"

A twisted, triumphant sneer spread across Chloe’s lips.

"Who do you think gave me her schedule?" Chloe whispered, her voice dripping with poison. "Who do you think unlocked the side entrance to her building so I could visit her? Damon hates that baby. He told me two weeks ago he’d make sure Maya never brought that brat home. He knows Maya delivered today. And he knows St. Jude’s doesn't check the visitor log on the east stairwell."