The man buzzed again, more insistent this time. Through the camera, they could see him checking his watch, glancing around the empty parking lot like he expected trouble.
"We don't have to answer," Cory said quietly.
"Yes, we do." Her voice had gone flat, resigned. "Running makes it worse. Whatever bomb Andrew's about to drop, better to know now."
She moved toward the stairs, and Cory caught her arm gently. "We face it together."
The look she gave him held gratitude and something else, something that made his chest tight. Then she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and headed down to face whatever new disaster Andrew had orchestrated.
The manila folder in the server's hands seemed to grow larger with each step they took toward the door.
26
The process server'seyes went wide when Cory flung open the door—in full police chief mode despite his civilian clothes
"I'm just here to serve papers," the man stammered, thrusting the manila folder through the barely opened door. "Isabella Reyes?"
"That's me." She kept her voice flat, emotionless.
"You've been served." He was already backing away, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to reach his car—a beater Honda that had seen better decades.
The moment his taillights disappeared down the access road, Izzy tore at the folder's seal. Her hands shook, making the simple task harder than it should be.
"Not here." Cory plucked the papers from her hands before she could unfold them. "Inside. Secure the door first."
"Cory—"
"Procedures exist for a reason." But his voice was gentle, understanding the desperation eating at her.
She wanted to argue, wanted to rip the papers from his hands and read whatever new torture Andrew had concocted. Instead, she followed him inside, letting him check locks and set alarms while her heart hammered against her ribs.
Finally, mercifully, they were back in the conference room. Cory handed her the papers without a word.
The legal language blurred together at first, her brain refusing to process the words. Then certain phrases jumped out like slaps to the face.
Emergency Motion for Immediate Custody.
Unstable living situation.
Federal investigation.
Cohabitating with unrelated male.
Immediate danger to minor child.
"Tomorrow." The word came out strangled. "He got a hearing scheduled for tomorrow morning."
The papers crumpled in her grip. Some judge who didn't know her, didn't know Chantal, would decide if Andrew could rip her baby away. Andrew, who'd seen his daughter three times in six years. Who'd signed away his rights for the price of a plane ticket from Florida.
"Izzy." Cory's voice seemed to come from very far away. "I'm calling Rachel."
She watched him dial, his movements thoughtful and efficient. Everything she wasn't right now. Her whole body vibrated with the need to do something—punch something, shoot something, anything but stand here helplessly while Andrew tried to steal her daughter.
"Rachel? It's Cory. We need your help." He switched to speaker, setting the phone on the table. "Andrew filed an emergency custody motion. Hearing's tomorrow."
"Send me everything. Now." His sister's voice was all business, no pleasantries. "The motion, any supporting documents, everything."
Izzy fumbled with her phone, hands still shaking as she photographed each page. The accusations blurred together—neglect, endangerment, inappropriate living arrangements. Each lie another knife between her ribs.
