Chapter 3 - The Confrontation at the Office
Forty-five minutes later, my sedan tore into the underground parking garage of Miller-Garrison Engineering, tires squealing against the concrete. I didn't bother waiting for an elevator; I sprinted up the concrete stairwell, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped animal, pushing open the heavy glass doors of the executive suite with a force that rattled the brass hinges.
The receptionists looked up in sheer shock, but I ignored them, marching straight past the mahogany desks toward the corner office bearing the name Mark Miller, Managing Director.
I didn't knock. I slammed the door open so hard it rebounded off the drywall with a thunderous crack.
Mark was sitting behind his oversized glass desk, leaning over a set of architectural blue-prints. He looked up, annoyance flashing across his face, which quickly morphed into stark, blood-drained terror as he saw my face.
“Valerie? What are you—why aren't you at home? What happened at the school?” Mark stammered, standing up so abruptly his ergonomic chair rolled backward and crashed into the filing cabinet behind him.
I walked across the plush carpet, stopping just two feet from his desk. I didn't scream. I didn't throw anything. I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out the manila envelope Victoria had given me, and slammed it down onto the blueprints.
“Eight years ago,” I whispered, my voice shaking with a rage so pure it felt cold. “You told me one of our twin boys didn't survive.”
Mark’s face lost every trace of color. His lips parted, but no sound came out. He raised a trembling hand, reaching toward the edge of the desk. “Valerie... let me explain. It’s not what you think... things were so hard back then—”
“You sold him,” I screamed, the dam finally breaking. I lunged forward, grabbing the lapels of his expensive silk tie and jerking him across the desk until his face was inches from mine. “You sold our flesh and blood for a hundred thousand dollars! You traded your own son like a used car so you could play corporate big shot!”
Mark clawed at my hands, his eyes wide with panic not for what he had done, but because he had been caught. “Keep your voice down! Do you know who these people are? Richard Vance is a monster! He threatened me! He said if I didn't give him one of the twins, he would ruin my career, take everything we had—!”
“Don’t you dare lie to me!” I shoved him back, sending him stumbling into his leather chair. “Victoria Vance already gave me the full file, Mark. She showed me the bank transfers, the forged signatures, the wire receipts, and the payoff dates. You didn't do it under threat; you negotiated the price over three weeks while I was recovering in the hospital from a near-fatal delivery!”
The office door swung open again, and two men in dark suits stepped inside, flashing federal badges.
“Mark Miller?” one of them asked, his voice flat and authoritative. “You’re being placed under arrest for federal child trafficking, fraud, and falsification of vital records. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
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Mark stared at the silver handcuffs dangling from the agent’s hand, then looked at me with pathetic, pleading eyes. “Valerie... please. We’re a family. Think of Cole...”
“Cole has a mother who loves him,” I said, turning my back on him as the agents hauled him out of his chair. “And as of today, he’s going to have a brother, too.”
