Chapter 8 - The Hidden Camera
I stared at the woman who gave birth to me, feeling absolutely nothing but ice in my veins.
"You really think you can blackmail me from inside a jail cell?" I asked softly.
"I know I can," Teresa sneered. "David has the judge in his pocket. Mason has the ledger. It's your word against mine, Connor. I'm an elderly grandmother. You're a greedy engineer trying to frame his own mother to keep the stolen millions. Who do you think a jury will believe?"
She sat back, crossing her arms triumphantly. "Bring me the custody transfer papers by tomorrow morning, or wear an orange jumpsuit. Your choice."
I stood up slowly, pushing my chair back. "Goodbye, Teresa."
"Don't be stupid, Connor!" she barked as I reached the door.
I walked out of the interrogation room and met Detective Vance in the hallway. I didn't say a word. I just reached into my shirt collar and pulled out the tiny, blinking black button camera Vance had taped to my chest ten minutes earlier.
"Got it all," Vance said, taking the camera with a satisfied smirk. "Extortion, blackmail, and conspiracy to commit perjury. She just buried herself."
I let out a breath I felt like I’d been holding for a year. "What about David and Mason?"
"SWAT is hitting David’s estate right now. Mason won't be far behind."
I left the precinct as the sun began to rise over Nashville, painting the sky in strokes of pink and gold. For the first time in months, I felt awake. I drove back to the hospital, stopping only to buy a bouquet of yellow roses—Amy's favorite.
When I reached Frederick's room, Amy was asleep in the chair beside his crib, her hand resting gently through the bars, holding his tiny fingers. Frederick was breathing evenly, his color back to normal. The fever was gone.
I knelt beside Amy and gently shook her awake.
She blinked, panic flashing in her eyes for a second before she saw the roses.
"It's over," I whispered, handing her the flowers. "My mother is going to prison for a long time. David and Mason are done. They can never hurt us again."
Amy buried her face in my shoulder, crying softly, but this time, they were tears of profound relief.
"I bought you something else," I said, pulling a small box from my pocket. It was the gold pendant with the letter "F" I had bought for Frederick’s birthday. I fastened it around his sleeping neck. Then, I handed Amy a sleek shopping bag.
She opened it and gasped. It was the blue dress she had wanted for months.
"You're not a dishwasher, Amy. You're my wife. And you're the strongest woman I know."
We held each other as the morning light filled the room. The nightmare was finally over.
Or so I thought.
May you like
As I helped Amy pack Frederick's diaper bag to go home, I pulled out a small, child's drawing I had never seen before. It was tucked deep in a side pocket. It was a crude crayon drawing of a man, a woman, and a baby. But the man in the drawing wasn't me. It was a man with a red scar across his face.
And written at the bottom, in Amy's handwriting, were the words: Please come find us.
