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Jack gets up and opens a cabinet door. Behind the door is a small fireproof safe. He unlocks it and lifts a navy passport.
“It’s here. She knows where I keep it, so if she wanted it, she could have accessed it,” Jack says.
“This doesn’t make sense.” Jack leans against the office wall and stares down at his feet. “I mean, you can disagree about a curfew, but you don’t run away.”
“Did you ever hit her?” Jack’s head snaps up. Agonized. Distraught. He hates hearing that question as much as I hate asking it.
“Never. Not once. She’s never been spanked. Cassie was completely against it.” He shakes his head, gazing out over the horizon. “When I said we had disagreements, I didn’t mean like that. The Sullivans don’t yell. We are reserved. We discuss. And I can promise you, I would never lift a hand to my daughter. Ever. I wasn’t a great dad. Not until Cassandra died. But when she came to live with me, I stopped business travel. Hell, that first year, I barely worked. I stepped down as CEO so I could be here for her transition. I mean, Cassandra’s death…it knocked us both off our feet. The next year, I returned to work. Spent a ton of time locked away in the office.” He looks directly at me. Solemn. Meditative. “Clearly, she was unhappy. But I never hit her.”
“Had to ask.” It’s an awful question, but an important one. One I’m sure the SDPD has already asked, but I needed to see his reaction. “My team is combing through her online life, but so far, we haven’t come up with any leads. We suspect she had a burner phone or some alternative electronic device she was using.”
“Why?”
“I think it’s unlikely she left here to go for a walk alone on the beach. She had to have been meeting up with someone.”
“She could have coordinated at school, right? You know, the old-fashioned way? Spoke to someone?”
“True. Although all her close friends from school are still at home and seem concerned.”
“I feel so helpless.” The back of Jack’s head thuds against the wall. He doesn’t flinch.
“I think it’s time to put it all over the news,” I tell him. “Have the world searching for her.”
“No.” He stares me down, jaw flexed. “No. Absolutely not. It’s clear she ran on her own volition. You put that in front of the media, they’re all over it. Not just now, but for the rest of her life. They’ll be hounding her, looking for a juicy story about a rich girl gone astray. No. Way.”
“How’d the search party go earlier?” I ask to deflect to a safer topic.
“Her friends took us everywhere they hang out. All the places on the beach and…” He flexes his hand. “What if she went out to meet someone and something happened?”
“It’s a possibility. And another reason to get the word out. If someone has her, and they by chance don’t know her father’s net worth, it might be worth it to let them know.”
“I’ll think about it.” He turns his back to me, crosses his arms, and blindly stares out the window.
“I have a file on the portal of the photos off her phone. Can you go through them? I need you to flag anyone you don’t recognize.”
“Definitely.” He swivels his office chair around, sits, and pulls up to his keyboard. “Did you send me a link?”
There is hope in his question. I understand. Having an actionable task is infinitely better than swimming through watery emotions.
CHAPTER10
49 Hours Missing
Alex
Buildings dot the landscape as far as the eye can see. Even up in the hills, homes peek out between dots of green and rocky peaks. Through the curved helicopter window, a long white coastline stretches before us, and bright white crests speckle the mass of navy blue. Just another day in beautiful Southern California.
Is Sophia in one of the cars flying down the 101? Is she getting stoned on the beach and enjoying newfound freedom? Maybe having sex with some older man who convinced her this is the only way they could be together? Or is she the latest human trafficking victim, bound in a large container headed off to the highest bidder?
“How long have you lived here?” Ryan’s mundane question brings me back to the cabin. After leaving Jack’s, silence has dominated.
“Not long. Less than a year. What about you?”
“Santa Barbara? Less than a year.” His frown softens. Piloting a helicopter suits him. He’s in charge, a machine under his control, the world beneath him. “Did you love being a student?”
“What?” I field plenty of questions about my chosen coursework, but few about being a student.
“That’s a long time to go to school. I’ve always wondered why people do that. I mean, I get doctors. There’s a lot to learn to do the job. But those who essentially become full-time students, I’ve always wondered what makes you tick. There’s not that much money, is there? How long do you have to work before you break even on all the tuition?”
