Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN WHO DISAPPEARED FROM ROOM TWELVE“MR. MITCHELL, THREE WOMEN HAVE DISAPPEARED FROM THE SHELTER YOUR FAMILY FUNDS. YOUR EX-WIFE DISCOVERED WHERE THE MONEY WAS GOING—AND TWO DAYS LATER, SOMEONE TRIED TO KILL HER.”
Detective Ortiz delivered the news without raising her voice.
We were standing outside Blue Lantern House, a modest three-story building on Chicago's West Side.
A blue metal lantern hung beside the entrance.
Emily had chosen it herself.
She once told me that people fleeing terrible situations needed something simple to believe in.
“A light,” she'd said. “Something that tells them they're finally somewhere safe.”
Looking at that lantern now made me feel sick.
I'd financed the building.
I'd posed for photographs at its opening.
I'd accepted public praise for generosity.
But I couldn't remember the last time I'd actually visited.
Ortiz studied me.
“You understand this isn't a publicity event?”
“Yes.”
“No bodyguards inside. No intimidation. No questioning residents without their permission.”
“I understand.”
She paused.
“And Mr. Mitchell?”
“What?”
“If you're involved in any of this, I'll find out.”
I looked at the blue lantern.
“I hope you do.”
Inside, the shelter smelled of fresh coffee and laundry detergent.
Children's drawings covered a hallway bulletin board.
Someone had painted tiny yellow stars along the staircase.
From a distant room came the sound of a child laughing.
The ordinary warmth of the place made the horror of what Ortiz had discovered even harder to comprehend.
A woman in her late fifties approached us.
She had close-cropped silver hair, tired eyes, and a navy cardigan.
“I'm Naomi Webb,” she said. “I manage the residence.”
When she recognized me, her expression tightened.
“Mr. Mitchell.”
“Naomi.”
She looked toward Ortiz.
“Is this about Emily?”
“Yes,” the detective answered. “We need to review some resident records.”
Naomi's eyes filled with tears.
“She was here last week.”
My heart tightened.
“What was she doing?”
“Helping a young mother prepare for a job interview.”
Of course.
Even after I'd taken away her beautiful home, her marriage, and the future she'd imagined, Emily was still helping strangers.
Naomi led us into a small office.
There were photographs on the wall showing families at holiday celebrations, children receiving school supplies, and volunteers preparing meals.
Emily appeared in several of them.
In one photograph, she was kneeling beside a little boy wearing a superhero costume.
Her smile was genuine.
I hadn't seen her smile like that in months.
“Emily was worried,” Naomi began. “About the transfers.”
“Tell us exactly what happened,” Ortiz said.
Naomi opened a folder.
“Over the past four months, three residents were supposedly moved to partner programs in other states.”
“Supposedly?” I asked.
“The transfer records were complete. Transportation invoices, relocation approvals, receiving addresses. Everything looked official.”
“What changed?”
“Emily started calling the destination facilities.”
Naomi swallowed.
“One of them had closed two years ago.”
Ortiz immediately wrote something down.
“What about the others?”
“One address belonged to an empty office building. The third organization denied ever receiving anyone.”
I felt my stomach twist.
“What happened to the women?”
“We don't know.”
“Names?”
Naomi hesitated.
Ortiz reassured her.
“We'll handle their information carefully.”
Naomi looked down.
“Mara Ellis was the first. Twenty-seven years old. She came here with her little boy, Ben.”
“Where are they now?”
“That's what Emily was trying to discover.”
Naomi turned a page.
“Mara had worked as an accounts assistant before coming here. She noticed that some expenses charged to the foundation didn't match the services we provided.”
I leaned forward.
“What expenses?”
“Transportation contracts. Temporary housing charges. Consulting fees.”
The same categories Detective Ortiz had shown me.
“Mara asked questions,” Naomi continued. “After that, someone from the corporate office told us she'd requested an emergency relocation.”
“Who?”
“I don't know. The instructions came through the foundation's financial department.”
Sebastian's department.
Naomi's voice lowered.
“Emily didn't believe the story. She told me Mara would never take Ben away without saying goodbye.”
“Why?”
“Because Ben had severe asthma. Emily had helped arrange his treatment, and Mara was waiting for his prescription refill.”
A memory surfaced.
Months earlier, Emily had asked me to help find a pediatric specialist for a little boy at the shelter.
I'd made a call and forgotten about it.
She hadn't.
“Was Mara afraid of someone?” Ortiz asked.
Naomi nodded slowly.
“She told Emily that she'd found evidence people were using the shelter's money for something illegal.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“She wouldn't say.”
Naomi stared at me.
“But she said the people involved were powerful enough to make anyone disappear.”
The room became very quiet.
I looked down at my hands.
For years, I'd been one of those people.
Someone whose name was enough to make strangers lower their voices.
I'd called that power.
Now I was beginning to understand what it looked like from the other side.
“There's another resident,” Naomi said.
She opened a second folder.
“Tessa Grant. Thirty-one. She was supposed to enter a residential training program.”
“Did she arrive?” Ortiz asked.
“No.”
“And the third woman?”
“Danielle Price. Twenty-four. Her transfer paperwork lists a location that doesn't exist.”
Ortiz closed her notebook.
“We'll need copies of everything.”
“You'll have them.”
Naomi hesitated.
“Detective, do you think these women are alive?”
Ortiz didn't make a promise she couldn't keep.
“We're going to do everything possible to find them.”
I watched Naomi wipe her eyes.
That was what Emily would have said.
Not a threat.
Not a promise of revenge.
A commitment to help.
As we walked toward the entrance, I noticed a small framed photograph beside the stairs.
Emily stood beneath the blue lantern, holding a cardboard box filled with donated children's books.
I stopped.
On the frame, she'd written a sentence.
No one should have to earn the right to feel safe.
I read it twice.
Then I turned to Ortiz.
“If Sebastian is using this shelter for criminal operations, I want every record made available to your investigation.”
She studied me.
“Even if those records implicate your companies?”
I remembered my wife's bruised face.
“Yes.”
“That's a serious statement.”
“I know.”
Outside, snow had begun falling again.
My black SUV waited across the street, but I barely noticed it.
Ortiz's phone rang.
She listened for several seconds.
Then she looked at me.
“We found another camera near Emily's apartment.”
My pulse quickened.
“The garage camera?”
“No. A delivery driver's dashboard camera. It recorded part of the garage entrance shortly after the estimated time of the attack.”
“Did it catch the attacker?”
“Not clearly.”
She turned her phone toward me.
The photograph showed a woman kneeling beside someone lying on the pavement.
The person on the ground wore a cream-colored coat.
Emily's coat.
The woman kneeling beside her had shoulder-length chestnut hair and a dark green blazer.
I recognized her immediately.
May you like
It was my younger sister, Ava.
And in her hands was a leather folder that appeared to be covered in Emily's blood.
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