I wouldn't make that mistake again. I'd built walls of security, surveillance, control… and Millie had still walked out the gate.
A memory surfaced, three months ago, coming home early to find Millie hovering in the doorway of the living room. Victoria was sprawled on the sofa, watching some reality show.
"Aunt Victoria?" Millie's small voice had been hopeful. "Can we play a game?"
Victoria hadn't even looked away from the screen. Just waved a dismissive hand. "Shoo, Millie. Not now. Can't you see I'm watching this?"
The tears brimming in my daughter's eyes. The way her little shoulders slumped. That casual cruelty that Victoria didn't even notice she'd delivered to a child.
That was the first crack. The second came a week later, a negotiation call with Korean investors, delicate and time-sensitive. Victoria's name lit up my phone. I'd let it go to voicemail, planning to call back in two minutes.
Two minutes later, she called again. And again. Then the texts flooded in.
Victoria
Ignoring me? Who is she, Nathaniel? Too busy with your little assistant? I know what you're doing.
The accusations grew more vile with each message. Her paranoia wasn't love. It was poison.
I'd called Miles Cameron the next morning. Filed for divorce within the week.
And now Millie was gone, and I couldn't fix it with money or lawyers or control. I couldn't fix it at all.
My phone rang. Unknown number.
I almost dismissed it, probably another reporter, or a crank caller hoping for reward money. But something made me answer.
"This is Nathaniel Sterling."
A pause. Then a voice, young, tentative, a little breathless. "Umm... hi... I'm Claire. I think I have your daughter."
The world sharpened into crystalline focus. "Where are you? Is she hurt? Is she?—"
"She's safe." The voice steadied, calm washing over the line like a physical thing. "She's warm and dry. She's had something to eat. She's okay, Mr. Sterling."
My legs nearly buckled. I braced one hand against the desk. "Where?"
"My apartment. I can give you the address. Do you have something to write with, or?—"
"Just tell me. I'll remember."
She gave me the address, a neighborhood I knew only from crime statistics and urban development proposals. My blood pressure spiked again, but differently now. Not fear of the unknown. Fear of what Millie had walked through to get there.
"I'm on my way," I said. "Don't let anyone in. Don't let her out of your sight. I'll be there in—" I calculated traffic, routes, shortcuts. "Twenty minutes."
"We'll be here." A pause. "Mr. Sterling? She's really okay. She's a brave kid."
I couldn't speak. I just ended the call and moved.
I made two more calls as I strode through the house, ignoring Victoria's questions, grabbing my keys. First, James.
"She has been found," I said before he could speak. "A woman called. She has her."
"Thank God." James's exhale was shaky. "Where? I'll meet you?—"
"No. Go to the house. Keep an eye on things." Keep an eye on Victoria, I didn't say. "I'll call when I have her."
"Nate…" He hesitated. "Be careful. This could be anything."
