Chapter 11 - Thomas Disappears
Thomas’s blood changed everything.
Until then, the danger had been aimed at evidence.
At houses.
At old secrets.
At intimidation.
Now someone had entered a man’s home and left enough blood on the floor to make police use the phrase possible abduction.
Lorraine fell apart.
“He called me.”
“When?” Alvarez asked.
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“What did he say?”
“That he wanted to tell Travis everything.”
“Everything about what?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Did he sound afraid?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
Lorraine looked ashamed.
“Because I thought he was being dramatic.”
Travis laughed in disbelief.
“Mom.”
“I know.”
“No.”
He stepped toward her.
“You do not get to say I know anymore.”
She stared at him.
“Every time somebody tells you something uncomfortable, you decide it is exaggerated until there is blood somewhere.”
Lorraine lowered her head.
He was right.
It was becoming almost unbearable how often Lorraine’s worst choices came not from active cruelty but from the refusal to take other people’s fear seriously.
Naomi.
Walter.
Aaron.
Now Thomas.
“What exactly did Tom say?” I asked.
Lorraine forced herself to think.
“He said, ‘Celia is cleaning up.’”
My skin prickled.
“Cleaning up what?”
“He didn’t explain.”
“Anything else?”
“He said she never worked for Victor.”
“What?”
Travis frowned.
“But Walter’s letter said Victor answered to her.”
Lorraine nodded.
“Tom said we all misunderstood the hierarchy.”
Alvarez wrote quickly.
“He also said there was someone else?”
Lorraine looked up.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“He said, ‘Celia didn’t build the network alone.’”
My stomach sank.
“Did he name them?”
“No.”
Of course not.
Alvarez’s phone rang.
She stepped away.
Travis looked at his mother.
“If Tom dies—”
“Don’t.”
“You need to understand.”
“Don’t say that.”
“You keep believing silence is neutral.”
Lorraine started crying.
“It isn’t.”
He pointed toward the window.
“It keeps helping the worst person in the room.”
I watched her absorb that.
Maybe for the first time.
Detective Alvarez returned.
“They found Thomas’s car.”
Lorraine stood.
“Where?”
“Bus station parking garage.”
“Was he there?”
“No.”
“Cameras?”
“Checking.”
“Blood?”
“None visible.”
“Phone?”
“Inside the vehicle.”
That meant Thomas either left willingly or someone wanted to make it look as though he did.
Three hours later, camera footage showed Thomas entering the garage.
Alone.
He parked.
Walked toward the bus terminal.
Then disappeared from view.
No obvious force.
No struggle.
No Celia.
He might have run.
Or he might have been meeting someone.
The blood in his house belonged to him.
Not enough to prove a fatal injury.
A cut.
A staged scene.
A warning.
Nobody knew.
That evening, Naomi called me.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then the voice said, “Maya.”
I froze.
“Who is this?”
“Naomi.”
I sat down.
Travis was across the room.
I raised a hand.
He came closer.
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Are you safe?”
“No.”
The honesty chilled me.
“Did Celia find you?”
“Yes.”
“Did she hurt you?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because she needs something.”
“What?”
“Aaron’s second drive.”
I looked at Travis.
“Walter’s box.”
“Yes.”
“How do you know we found it?”
“Celia knows.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know now.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t.”
That answer surprised me.
Naomi continued.
“You shouldn’t trust anyone simply because they tell you they were a victim.”
I thought of Lorraine.
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
“And did you hurt people too?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Truth again.
Messy.
Never clean.
“What did you do?”
“I helped Celia for years.”
Travis leaned closer.
I put the phone on speaker.
Naomi heard the change.
“Travis?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
He said nothing.
“I knew you existed.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I watched you from a distance once.”
“When?”
“At Walter’s funeral.”
Travis stiffened.
“You were there?”
“Across the street.”
“Why didn’t you come inside?”
“Because Lorraine was inside.”
He looked at his mother’s empty chair.
She had gone to Carol’s.
“Why are you calling now?”
“Thomas came to me.”
My breath caught.
“He’s with you?”
“No.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Was he bleeding?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Celia confronted him.”
“Where?”
“At his house.”
“So she attacked him.”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“Thomas attacked her first.”
This story refused to stay simple.
“Why?”
“Because she threatened to expose him.”
“For what?”
Naomi was quiet.
Then she said, “Thomas was the man in the SUV.”
I looked at Travis.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“He was in Florida.”
“He flew back privately.”
“Records show—”
“Commercial records show he went to Florida.”
“What are you saying?”
“He left Miami that evening on Victor’s plane.”
My heart began pounding.
“Thomas was with Celia when Aaron crashed?”
“Yes.”
“Was he driving?”
“No.”
“Who was?”
“Celia.”
The room narrowed.
“Did Thomas hit Aaron’s car?”
“No.”
“What did he do?”
“He watched.”
I felt sick.
“He watched my husband die?”
“He got out after the crash.”
“Did he help?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Celia told him Aaron was already dead.”
My voice broke.
“Was he?”
Naomi began crying.
“I don’t know.”
I could barely breathe.
“Why did Thomas help her?”
“Because Thomas was part of the adoption network.”
Travis stared at the phone.
“What?”
“Not originally.”
“Explain.”
“Thomas invested in Victor’s properties.”
“Yes.”
“Then Celia showed him what St. Agnes had done to Lorraine.”
“Illegal adoptions.”
“Yes.”
“He wanted to expose it.”
“That sounds noble.”
“At first.”
There was that phrase again.
“What changed?”
“Money.”
Naomi’s voice hardened.
“Celia discovered the records were valuable.”
“To whom?”
“People who had paid to hide births.”
“Politicians?”
“Some.”
“Rich families?”
“Yes.”
“Doctors?”
“Yes.”
“And you blackmailed them.”
“Celia did.”
“You said you helped her.”
“I found names.”
“For reunions?”
“At first.”
I almost laughed at how predictable human corruption could become.
“And then?”
“Then Celia decided shame should have a price.”
“How was Thomas involved?”
“He moved money.”
“Through the foundation?”
“Yes.”
“And Victor?”
“Provided companies.”
“So nobody answered to anybody.”
“They all needed each other.”
That sounded more believable than a single mastermind.
Networks survive because guilt is distributed.
Everybody knows enough to be afraid.
Nobody knows enough to feel responsible.
“What does Celia want now?”
“The second drive.”
“Why?”
“Walter copied the account ledger.”
“The payments?”
“All of them.”
“Names?”
“Yes.”
“Thomas too?”
“Yes.”
“And you?”
Naomi hesitated.
“Yes.”
I looked at Travis.
That mattered.
“Why call us?”
“Because I’m done running.”
“Then go to police.”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
“What happened?”
“Celia intercepted me before I reached them.”
“How?”
“She knew where I was.”
“Because Thomas told her?”
“No.”
“Victor?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Naomi became silent.
I heard breathing.
Then a sound in the background.
A door.
“Naomi?”
“Listen to me.”
Her voice became urgent.
“Do not give Celia the drive.”
“Where are you?”
“If Thomas contacts you, tell him I kept my promise.”
“What promise?”
The call cut.
“Naomi?”
Nothing.
I called back.
Disconnected.
We immediately contacted Alvarez.
Police tried to trace the number.
Burner.
Last signal from a rural tower north of the city.
Not enough.
Then the front camera alerted.
Motion detected.
Travis checked.
A man stood on our porch.
Thomas.
His left temple was bandaged.
His coat was torn.
He looked exhausted.
I called Alvarez before opening the door.
Thomas raised both hands toward the camera.
“I know you’re watching.”
Travis spoke through the speaker.
“What do you want?”
“To tell you the truth.”
“You should have tried that six years ago.”
“I know.”
“Where is Naomi?”
Thomas’s eyes widened.
“She called you?”
“Yes.”
“Then we have less time.”
“For what?”
“Celia has her.”
My stomach dropped.
“You said you went to Naomi yesterday.”
“I did.”
“She said you left.”
“I did.”
“Then how do you know Celia has her?”
Thomas looked over his shoulder.
“Because Celia sent me this.”
He held up his phone.
A photograph.
Naomi tied to a chair.
Alive.
Terrified.
Beside her, a handwritten sign.
BRING THE LEDGER.
NO POLICE.
Then Thomas said, “She wants Walter’s drive by midnight.”
Travis looked at me.
“And if we don’t?”
Thomas swallowed.
“She says Naomi dies.”
A second message arrived on Thomas’s phone while we watched.
He read it.
His face changed.
“What?”
He turned the screen toward the camera.
The new message contained a photograph of Zia’s school.
May you like
The caption was six words.
AFTER NAOMI, THE BLUEBIRD IS NEXT.
