Chapter 4 - The House on Elm Street
The unmarked black SUV pulled up to the curb of 414 Elm Street, a dilapidated brick apartment building wedged between an auto body shop and a shuttered Laundromat. Piles of gray, unplowed snow lined the cracked sidewalk, and the wind whipped trash across the desolate courtyard.
Elliot stepped out of the vehicle first, his heavy wool overcoat snapping in the bitter wind. Behind him, Marcus followed closely, carrying a warm blanket and a thermos of hot tea.
They had left Maddie and baby Emma upstairs in the secure executive suite under the watchful, compassionate care of Dr. Hayes and a trusted female executive. Maddie had fought tooth and nail against staying behind, but when Elliot promised her on his life that he would find out what happened to her mother and brought back answers, she had finally relinquished her grip on his sleeve.
The front door of the apartment building hung slightly off its hinges, the brass lock busted and long past repaired.
Elliot walked up the dingy, urine-scented stairwell to the fourth floor, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. Two police cruisers were already parked outside Apartment 4B, their red and blue emergency lights flashing silent, eerie streaks against the peeling yellow wallpaper of the hallway.
A uniformed officer stepped out of the open doorway as Elliot approached.
"Mr. Whitaker?" the officer asked, eliminating the powerful executive. "Detective Miller is inside. Are you the one who placed the call?"
"I am," Elliot said, his voice flat and controlled, masking the storm raging beneath his skin. "What's the situation?"
"It's not good, sir," the officer replied grimly, shaking his head. "The mother, Sarah Brooks, thirty-two. Pronounced dead at the scene by EMTs. Looks like an overdose combined with severe hypothermia—the radiator in the unit has been busted for a week, and the temperature inside was freezing. From the looks of it, she passed away sometime late yesterday afternoon or evening."
Elliot closed his eyes for a single second, feeling a sharp, burning ache in the center of his chest. Yesterday afternoon. That meant little Maddie had spent an entire night alone in a freezing apartment with a dead mother and a starving infant, trying to figure out how to survive.
He pushed past the officer and stepped inside the apartment.
The living room was a stark monument to poverty and despair. There was no furniture to speak of—just a threadbare mattress tossed in the corner covered in dirty blankets, a small space heater that had long since run out of fuel, and a kitchen counter piled high with empty, unwashed tin cans.
Detective Miller, a tired-looking man with graying temples and a heavy winter jacket, walked out of the back bedroom, flipping a small closed notebook.
"Mr. Whitaker," Detective Miller greeted him, letting out a heavy sigh. "Your assistant said you brought the older child and the baby to your office?"
"They're safe," Elliot said firmly. "They're with my doctor. What happens next, Detective?"
"Well, standard protocol means Child Protective Services takes custody of both children and places them into emergency foster care while we try to locate any extended family," Miller explained, running a hand over his face. "Though based on our preliminary sweep, there's no father listed on the birth certificates, and no local relatives on record. They'll likely go into the state system by tonight."
Elliot stared at the detective, the cold corporate machinery of the state grinding against the fragile lives of two innocent children in his mind.
State system. Foster care roulette. Separated siblings. Cold beds.
"No," Elliot said, his voice cutting through the detective's words with absolute, terrifying finality.
May you like
Detective Miller blinked, surprised. "Excuse me?"
"They are not going into the state system," Elliot stated, stepping closer, his dark eyes locked onto the detective's. "I am filing for emergency temporary custody as their legal guardian and corporate trustee. Right now. Today."
