Chapter 2 - The Van Behind the Church
I reached the rear courtyard before the police did.
The gray van was parked beside the catering entrance exactly where Emily had said it would be.
There was no company logo on the sides.
Its windows were dark.
A woman wearing navy scrubs stood beside a man in a gray jacket.
Both looked startled when they saw me approaching.
“Are you Michael Grant?”
The woman asked.
“Yes.”
Her expression immediately relaxed.
“Good.”
She opened the folder in her hands.
“We were told there might be some separation anxiety.”
I stopped several feet away.
“Who are you?”
Her smile disappeared.
“My name is Sandra Mills.”
She pointed toward the man beside her.
“This is Daniel Ortiz.”
“We’re transport specialists for Hawthorne Residential Center.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“Why are you here?”
Sandra glanced at her paperwork.
“To transport Emily Grant.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“Transport her where?”
“To Hawthorne.”
“For what?”
Sandra looked confused.
“Residential placement.”
The police came around the corner behind me.
Rebecca followed several steps later.
The moment Sandra saw her, relief crossed her face.
“Ms. Whitmore.”
Rebecca froze.
That mistake destroyed whatever explanation she had been preparing.
Sandra held up the folder.
“You told us Mr. Grant would be informed before pickup.”
Rebecca said nothing.
I turned toward her.
“You arranged this?”
She finally found her voice.
“It was supposed to be temporary.”
“For how long?”
“Michael, please.”
“How long?”
Sandra looked down again.
“The initial placement is six months.”
I stared at Rebecca.
Six months.
My daughter had spent the morning choosing flowers for Rebecca’s bouquet.
Meanwhile Rebecca had arranged for strangers to put her in a van for half a year.
An officer stepped between us.
“Sir, let us handle this.”
Sandra handed him the documents.
“I don’t understand.”
She looked genuinely alarmed.
“We were told the parents had approved everything.”
“Parents?”
I said.
“I’m her only living legal parent.”
Sandra slowly turned toward Rebecca.
Rebecca’s jaw tightened.
The officer examined the paperwork.
“There’s a signature here.”
He looked at me.
“Michael James Grant.”
“I never signed it.”
Rebecca spoke quickly.
“You signed several documents last month.”
“Insurance documents.”
“They included family planning documents.”
“No.”
Andrew called me before I could say anything else.
I answered immediately.
“I found something.”
His voice sounded different now.
Not curious.
Alarmed.
“What?”
“A petition was prepared three days ago requesting temporary residential placement for Emily.”
I looked at Rebecca.
“Who filed it?”
“It hasn’t been formally approved by a judge.”
Andrew paused.
“But your electronic signature appears on the consent form.”
“It’s forged.”
“There’s more.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“The documents state that Emily suffers from aggressive behavior, repeated emotional instability, and violent outbursts.”
I looked through the chapel window.
Emily was sitting beside Lauren.
My little girl was clutching the skirt of her white dress.
She had never been suspended from school.
Never hit another child.
Never required psychiatric treatment.
“Those statements are false.”
“I know.”
Andrew breathed slowly.
“But somebody attached an evaluation from a licensed psychologist.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Jonathan Mallory.”
Rebecca turned away.
I noticed.
“Andrew, keep talking.”
“The evaluation recommends immediate separation from the home environment.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“It claims your attachment to Emily prevents her treatment.”
I almost couldn’t speak.
“And Rebecca?”
Another pause.
“It identifies Rebecca Whitmore as the responsible adult coordinating placement.”
I looked at the woman I had nearly married.
She had stopped pretending now.
Her face was cold.
Andrew continued.
“There’s also a second document.”
“What second document?”
“A petition for emergency guardianship.”
The courtyard seemed to tilt beneath me.
“Whose name?”
May you like
Andrew answered quietly.
“Rebecca’s.”
