AT MY HUSBAND’S 25TH ANNIVERSARY GALA, HIS MISTRESS AUCTIONED MY DEAD MOTHER’S LAST QUILT

“Why should I trust you?” I backed away, pulling Grace tightly against my side.

Melissa unlocked the doors again. “Because if you don’t get in this car, Laura, you’re going to spend the next twenty years in federal prison, and William is going to Zurich with my daughter.”

The world tilted on its axis.

I looked at the flight receipt in my hand.

Passenger Two: Chloe Grant. Age: 6.

I threw the quilt into the back seat and pushed Grace in before climbing in beside her. Melissa slammed her foot on the gas, and the town car sped out of the alley onto Wabash Avenue.

“What do you mean, your daughter?” I demanded. “William never mentioned you had a child.”

Melissa gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white. The smug, polished mistress from the stage was gone. In her place was a terrified, trembling woman.

“Chloe isn’t just my daughter,” Melissa whispered, her eyes fixed on the road. “She’s William’s.”

Grace gasped. I felt the air leave my lungs.

“He told me he was leaving you,” Melissa continued, a tear cutting through her perfect makeup. “He promised we were starting a new life in Switzerland tonight. He told me to wait at the gala while he went to ‘finalize the paperwork.’ But when you pulled out that Cayman Islands deposit slip... I realized what he was doing.”

“He’s framing me for embezzlement,” I said, my mind racing.

“Worse,” Melissa said bitterly. “He took out a second mortgage on your house, emptied the company pension fund, and funneled it all into that offshore account in your name. He’s going to board that plane with my daughter, leave me here holding the bag, and tip off the feds that you stole the money.”

I looked down at William’s coat.

“Where is Chloe now?” I asked.

“At the flagship store on Michigan Avenue,” Melissa choked out. “In his private office. He hired a private security guard to watch her until he arrives.”

I reached back into William’s coat pocket. My fingers grazed something else. Deep in the lining, there was a small, torn envelope.

I pulled it out and opened it.

Inside was a child’s crayon drawing. It showed a stick figure man holding a little girl's hand, standing next to a large blue box.

But it wasn't signed by Chloe.

At the bottom, in my mother’s neat, cursive handwriting, were the words: Locker 42, Union Station. He doesn't know I have the key.

I stared at the note. My mother had known. Before she died, she had somehow discovered William’s second life.

“Melissa,” I said sharply. “Turn the car around. We’re not going to the flagship store.”

“Are you crazy? My daughter is there!”

“William expects us to go there,” I said. “But my mother left something at Union Station. Something that can stop him.”

I reached into my small purse and pulled out the old wooden rosary my mother always carried. She had given it to me on her deathbed. I had never understood why she insisted I keep it with me at all times.

I looked closely at the wooden crucifix.

There was a tiny, almost invisible seam along the side of the cross.

I snapped the wood in half.

A tiny brass locker key fell into my palm.