Chapter 5 - The Secret Ally
We moved with absolute silence.
Renee packed the portable breast pump, three days of infant clothing, formula, and the medical records from the hospital. I woke Willa with a gentle hand over her shoulder.
"Willa," I whispered in the dark room. "It's time. We have to go."
Willa sat up immediately. She hadn't changed out of her clothes; she had been lying on the daybed in her sneakers, waiting. "Is Dad asleep?"
"He's downstairs loading his trunk," I whispered back. "He’s planning to take the babies to your mother at five in the morning."
Willa’s eyes widened with genuine horror. "He told me we were all going to court together at nine! He told me I would get to testify!"
"He lied to you again, sweetheart," I said, smoothing her hair back. "He was going to leave you behind while he took Nora and Miles. Now grab your backpack. We leave through the back garden gate."
The plan was dangerously simple. Graham’s car was parked in the front driveway, directly under the streetlamp. Renee’s Subaru was parked around the corner on loving Avenue, hidden behind a row of tall ligustrum hedges.
Renee carried Miles in his car seat, wrapped in a dark fleece blanket. I carried Nora against my chest in a fabric sling, supporting my aching stomach with both hands. Willa carried the diaper bags.
We crept down the back staircase that led to the utility room. Every creak of the floorboards sounded like a gunshot to my ears. We reached the laundry room door, slipped into the humid Dallas night, and stepped onto the damp grass of the backyard.
The night air was thick with the scent of jasmine and lake dampness. A light rain had begun to fall, misting over our faces.
"Stop," Willa suddenly whispered, grabbing my sleeve.
Through the kitchen window, we saw Graham. He was standing at the counter, pouring coffee into a travel mug. The dashboard clock on the microwave read 4:15 AM.
He was running forty-five minutes ahead of schedule.
"Go, go," Renee urged, slipping through the wooden gate that opened onto the side alleyway.
We moved down the gravel path as fast as my stitched abdomen would allow. With every step, a sharp spike of agony flared through my lower pelvis, but the warmth of Nora’s tiny body pressed against my ribs kept my feet moving forward.
We reached Renee’s Subaru. Renee loaded the infants into their bases in the backseat, clicking the buckles into place with practiced efficiency. Willa jumped into the middle seat between them, instantly checking their blankets.
I fell into the passenger seat, gasping for breath, the sweat chilling on my forehead.
Renee started the engine, leaving the headlights off until we turned the corner onto Garland Road.
"Where are we going?" Willa asked from the backseat, her voice small. "The courthouse doesn't open until eight."
"Sarah Vance’s house," Renee answered, stepping on the gas. "She told me she has an espresso machine and a laser printer. We're going to wage war from her dining room table."
Thirty minutes later, we pulled into the driveway of a stately Tudor home in the Lakewood neighborhood. Sarah Vance was already awake, waiting for us on the front porch in a charcoal gray pantsuit, holding the door open.
"Get those babies inside," Sarah commanded, ushering us into her warm, brightly lit foyer. "I've already reviewed the text logs Eliza forwarded. What else do we have?"
I handed her the silver thumb drive. "The entire archive from his laptop. Emails detailing a scheme to seize my trust fund, drafts of a fraudulent affidavit, and communications with Candace dating back six months."
Sarah plugged the drive into her desktop computer in the study. She scrolled through the files for ten silent minutes, her sharp, experienced eyes tracking the dates and names. A slow, predatory smile formed on her lips.
"Graham Hartwell," Sarah muttered, "is an absolute amateur who thought he was a mastermind."
"Can we stop him from taking custody?" I asked, my voice trembling from the adrenaline crash.
"Stop him?" Sarah turned to face me, her eyes flashing behind her glasses. "Eliza, by noon today, Graham Hartwell won't just be denied custody. He’s going to be facing felony charges for fraud, subornation of perjury, and extortion. But we have to move fast. His ex-wife is registered at an Airbnb on West Lawther Drive, correct?"
"Yes," Willa said from the doorway. "Number 412."
"Good," Sarah said, picking up her landline phone. "I’m calling Judge David Rodriguez. He’s the presiding judge of the 301st Family District Court. He happens to despise bad-faith ex-parte filings more than anything else in the state of Texas."
May you like
She dialed a private direct number. "David? It’s Sarah Vance. I need an emergency hearing in your chambers at eight-fifteen this morning. Bring your bailiff. We have an aggravated parental kidnapping and fraud scheme in progress."
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