Page 76 of His Daughter

"Which is exactly what Kira's lawyer will argue."

I pressed my palms against my eyes. The image was burned there — Kira in the lobby, pregnant, her hands on her belly, the envelope placed between them like a wall.

"We need him to admit he acted alone," Julian said. "We need a confession."

"Get Nolan."

Julian left and returned with Nolan. The three of us stood in my office for a moment — no words, just the understanding that what was about to happen in the conference room would change the Vanguard permanently.

"Bring him in," I said.

Graham walked into the conference room. He saw the three of us sitting on one side of the table and the empty chair on the other. He sat down, set his tablet before him, and folded his hands. His expression didn't change. Professional. Unflappable. He looked at the three of us.

I opened my mouth, but my phone rang.

The sound cut through the conference room. I glanced at the screen — not a number I expected. Mrs. Parrish. In the months I'd known her, she'd never called me. The phone was not her instrument.

I picked up.

"Mr. Hale." Her voice was tight. "I'm at the penthouse. I came by to drop off the groceries."

"It's your day off."

"I know. I stopped by on my way home." A pause. "Lena is in her crib. She's been crying. I don't know for how long."

My hand tightened on the phone. "Where's Thea?"

"I don't know. The apartment was empty. The front door was unlocked. There's no one here, Mr. Hale. Just the baby."

The room tilted. My chair scraped the floor. I was on my feet.

I looked at Nolan, then Julian, then Graham — still seated, his hands still folded, his expression still reading the room. "Handle him." I pointed at Graham. "Don't let him leave this building."

Nolan's eyes went to Graham. Graham's eyes went to me. For the first time in a decade, I saw something move behind his glasses. He knew what we'd found.

I was out the door.

The elevator. The lobby. The car. I drove myself. I ran a red light on Fifty-Seventh. A taxi honked. I didn't care.

My phone sat in the cup holder. I called Thea, but it went to voicemail. I hung up and called again. Same result. The recording. The beep. The silence.

My heart was pounding by the time I reached the door. The penthouse door was unlocked. I pushed it open.

Mrs. Parrish was in the nursery, standing beside the crib, holding Lena against her shoulder. The baby was sniffling and hiccupping. Mrs. Parrish's hand moved on Lena's back in small, firm circles.

Relief. That’s what I saw when she looked at me, and with it, the most expression her face had ever shown — the tight line of her mouth, the crease between her brows.

"How long?" I asked.

"I don't know. I arrived fifteen minutes ago. She was awake in the crib, crying. No one was here."

I took Lena from her. The baby came to me easily — both arms reaching, her face pressing into my neck, her fist finding my collar. The grip was tight. She was shaking, small, full-body tremors.

I held her close to my chest, my chin against the top of her head. Her heartbeat was fast. "It's okay. I'm here. Daddy's here."

I stood in the nursery, holding my daughter, my heart hammering, trying to piece together what happened. Thea was here this morning, watching Lena. Mrs. Parrish was off. The night nurse wasn't scheduled until evening. Where was Thea?

I called her again. Voicemail.