Chapter 5 - The Hunt for Tracy
While the children slept peacefully under my roof, the Savannah Police Department was closing the net around Montgomery Street.
Detective Marcus Hayes, a sharp investigator from the Special Victims Unit, called my private line at nine o'clock that evening.
“Owen, we pulled the transaction logs on Tracy Miller's state debit card,” Hayes reported, his voice tight with professional disgust.
“She withdrew eight hundred dollars from the children's survivor benefits account at an ATM in Brunswick at two this afternoon.”
“She was traveling in a blue nineteen-ninety-eight Chevy Lumina registered to a known narcotics offender named Donald Vance.”
“Did you track the vehicle, Marcus?” I asked, stepping onto my back porch with a cup of black coffee.
“Florida Highway Patrol spotted the Lumina crossing the state line into Jacksonville forty minutes ago,” Hayes replied.
“They initiated a traffic stop on Interstate 95 near exit three-sixty.”
“Donald Vance attempted to flee on foot and was apprehended with three ounces of methamphetamine.”
“And Tracy?”
Hayes let out a grim, satisfied chuckle.
“Tracy is currently sitting in a holding cell at the Duval County Jail, awaiting extradition back to Chatham County on charges of first-degree child cruelty, reckless endangerment, and felony identity fraud.”
“She was carrying two suitcases filled with designer clothes and eight hundred dollars in cash she stole from those little girls.”
A cold wave of vindication washed through my chest, though it did nothing to erase the memory of Maddie carrying an empty formula tin through the rain.
“What about the children’s permanent custody, Marcus?” I inquired, looking out over the moonlit waters of the marsh.
“That’s where things get complicated, Owen,” Hayes sighed.
“The judge presiding over the emergency shelter hearing on Thursday is Judge Arthur Vance.”
“He is a traditionalist on child welfare. He rarely approves non-relative single male guardianships unless there is an overwhelming institutional guarantee.”
“The state foster placement office is already preparing to argue for institutional wardship.”
“They want to place Penelope with a pre-adoptive couple in Atlanta and send Madeline to a youth group home in Macon.”
My hand tightened around the coffee mug until my knuckles throbbed.
“They will have to pry those children out of my cold, dead hands before I let them split that family up, Marcus.”
“Then you better hire the most ruthless family law litigator in the Southeast, Owen,” Hayes advised.
“Because on Thursday morning at nine o'clock, you are walking into a courtroom war.”
I didn't wait until morning.
I picked up my phone and dialed the private number of Nathan Brooks, the managing partner of Brooks, Croft & Sterling in Atlanta.
Nathan had been my corporate litigation attorney for fifteen years, a man who charged twelve hundred dollars an hour and never lost a trial.
“Nathan,” I said when he answered on the third ring.
“I need you in Savannah tomorrow morning at sunrise.”
“Bring three senior associates, your child welfare litigation team, and every precedent on non-relative guardianship in Georgia history.”
“Owen?” Nathan’s voice sounded instantly alert. “What happened? Did a competitor file an antitrust injunction against the restaurant group?”
“No, Nathan,” I replied, looking up at the bedroom window where Maddie and Penny were sleeping in peace.
May you like
“Someone is trying to tear my family apart.”
“And I am going to buy every second of legal warfare required to stop them.”
