The call came at 6:47 in the morning.

Daniel's phone.

Unknown number.

He answered it on the second ring.

"Mr.

Cross." The voice was professional, unhurried.

"My name is Alan Fitch.

I'm an attorney representing Marcus Cross.

I'm calling as a courtesy."

Daniel sat up.

Sophie was already awake across the room, watching him.

"Go ahead," Daniel said.

"My client has become aware that you may be in possession of a recording that was obtained without consent.

Depending on jurisdiction, that recording may not be admissible and its distribution could expose you to civil liability." A pause.

"My client has also asked me to convey that he has documentation relating to your wife's history — specifically a civil judgment from 2017 — which he intends to make available to relevant parties should this matter proceed."

"Which relevant parties?"

"Law enforcement.

The press.

Your son's school, if custody becomes a consideration."

Daniel's grip on the phone tightened.

"My son's school," he repeated.

"My client wants to resolve this privately.

He's prepared to offer a settlement — a significant one — in exchange for the recording and a signed agreement to cease all related activity.

He believes this is the most reasonable path forward for your family."

Sophie crossed the room and sat beside him.

She could hear the voice through the speaker.

Her face was still.

"Tell your client," Daniel said, "that we'll be in touch."

He ended the call.

"They're going after Noah," Sophie said.

It wasn't a question.

"He mentioned custody."

She stood.

She walked to the safe, entered the code, and removed the envelope.

She set it on the bed beside the phone.

"Then we don't wait," she said.

"We go this morning."

They had spent the previous night with Ruth and a lawyer named Carol Vance, who had listened to the voicemail twice, read through Ruth's documentation, and said very little until she said: *"This is enough to open a criminal investigation.

The question is sequencing."* They had agreed on sequencing.

They had agreed on timing.

The plan had been to move in two days.

Marcus had just moved the timeline.

"I'll call Carol," Daniel said.

"I'll call Ruth."

Noah woke up while they were both on their phones.

He sat up in bed, looked at his mother on one side of the room and his father on the other, and reached for the muffin bag on the nightstand with the calm practicality of a six-year-old who had decided that whatever the adults were doing, breakfast was still necessary.

Sophie looked at him over her phone.

Something moved across her face — fierce and tender and frightened all at once.

She turned back to the window.

"Ruth," she said into the phone.

"It's time."

---

Carol Vance arrived at the DA's office at 8:15 with Sophie, Daniel, and Ruth.

She carried a hard-sided briefcase.

Ruth carried the storage box.

Sophie carried the envelope and the cracked phone in a sealed evidence bag that Carol had provided the night before.

The assistant DA's name was Patricia Hollis.

She was in her forties, with reading glasses pushed up on her head and the expression of someone who had heard a great many things and was professionally skeptical of all of them.

She listened to the voicemail once.

She listened to it again.

She looked at Ruth's documentation for four minutes without speaking.

Then she looked at Sophie directly.

"Mrs.

Cross," she said.

"You've been living under a false identity for three years?"

"I've been living carefully," Sophie said.

"There's a difference."

Hollis looked at her for a moment.

Then, almost imperceptibly, the corner of her mouth moved.

"I'm going to need to make some calls," she said.

"I'd like all of you to stay in the building."

She picked up her desk phone.

Marcus Cross didn't know it yet, but the twenty-four hours he'd asked for had just run out.