Chapter 1 - I ALMOST DROVE PAST MY OWN DAUGHTER
My cardiologist told me to avoid stress.
Twenty minutes later, I found my daughter begging for money between stopped cars.
I was sixty-six years old when it happened.
Phoenix was baking beneath a white afternoon sun, the kind of heat that made the pavement look liquid.
I had just stopped at a red light on Grand Avenue when I noticed a woman moving slowly between the cars.
She carried a cheap plastic cup.
A baby was pressed tightly against her chest.
Most drivers stared straight ahead.
One rolled up his window before she reached him.
I almost looked away too.
Then the woman lifted her face.
My hands locked around the steering wheel.
No.
It couldn't be.
Three months earlier, my daughter Gaby had been laughing across my kitchen table.
She owned a paid-off townhouse.
She had a truck.
She had savings.
She had a baby boy she loved more than anything.
The woman outside my windshield looked like she hadn't slept in weeks.
Her brown hair was tangled.
Her lips were cracked.
Her clothes didn't belong to her.
And my grandson Leo's small face was red from the heat.
“Gaby?”
I don't know whether I shouted or whispered it.
But she heard me.
She stopped walking.
The plastic cup slipped slightly in her fingers.
Then she looked directly through my windshield.
I watched terror replace exhaustion on my daughter's face.
Not embarrassment.
Not surprise.
Terror.
I lowered the window.
“Gaby?”
“Dad…”
Her voice barely came out.
I unlocked the passenger door.
“Get in.”
She shook her head.
“Please go.”
“What?”
“Dad, please.”
A horn blasted behind me.
Then another.
I didn't move.
“Get in the car.”
She glanced over her shoulder as though someone might be watching.
That was the first thing that frightened me.
The second was the way she held Leo.
Not like a tired mother.
Like someone might take him from her.
“Gaby.”
I leaned across and pushed the door open.
“Get in.”
She finally did.
The smell of hot pavement disappeared when the door slammed shut.
I turned the air conditioning as high as it would go.
Leo whimpered.
Gaby immediately kissed his forehead.
“It's okay, baby.”
I stared at her.
There was dirt beneath her fingernails.
A bruise yellowed near her wrist.
Her shoes were worn nearly through.
I wanted to ask a hundred questions.
Only three came out.
“Where's your truck?”
She stared at the dashboard.
“Gone.”
“Your savings?”
Her lower lip trembled.
“Gone.”
My chest tightened.
Then I asked the question I was most afraid to ask.
“What happened to your house?”
Gaby shut her eyes.
I waited.
“Gaby.”
She whispered two words.
“Derek has it.”
I pulled the car onto the shoulder so quickly that someone behind us leaned on their horn.
I turned toward her.
“The townhouse?”
She nodded.
“The one on Pine Street?”
Another nod.
“That house was paid off.”
“I know.”
“It was in your name.”
Gaby looked at me then.
I had never seen my daughter look so defeated.
“It was.”
I felt something inside me become very still.
“Explain that.”
She tightened her arms around Leo.
“After he was born, Mason brought papers.”
“Mason?”
“Derek's brother.”
I knew Mason Miller.
Always smiling.
Always dressed like he had somewhere important to be.
Gaby continued.
“He said they were insurance papers.”
She swallowed.
“Some were for Leo.”
“What did you sign?”
“I don't know.”
The answer hit me harder than I expected.
“What do you mean you don't know?”
“I hadn't slept.”
Her eyes filled.
“Leo was waking every hour. Derek kept telling me everything was fine. Mason put the papers in front of me and pointed where to sign.”
My hands curled into fists.
“And then?”
“Two weeks later Derek said the townhouse wasn't mine anymore.”
I stared at her.
“That isn't how property works.”
“I know that now.”
“And your money?”
“Gone.”
“How much?”
“All of it.”
“And the truck?”
“Derek sold it.”
“He couldn't sell your truck.”
“He had the title.”
“How?”
“I don't know!”
Leo startled.
Gaby immediately lowered her voice.
“I'm sorry.”
She began rocking him.
I watched her for several seconds.
Then I asked:
“Why didn't you call me?”
That question broke her.
Not loudly.
Gaby didn't scream.
She simply looked at me and began crying as though she had been holding those tears inside for months.
“Because they told me you'd make it worse.”
“Who?”
“Derek.”
She hesitated.
“And Brenda.”
His mother.
“What did they say?”
Gaby wiped her face.
“They said if I came to you, they'd tell the court I was unstable.”
“What court?”
“Family court.”
My skin went cold.
“They said they'd take Leo.”
For the first time, I noticed how often she looked into the side mirror.
I followed her gaze.
A dark SUV was parked half a block behind us.
Engine running.
“Gaby.”
She stopped breathing.
“Do you know that car?”
She didn't answer.
“Gaby?”
Her face went white.
“Dad…”
She reached for my arm.
“Drive.”
“Who is it?”
“Please.”
The SUV pulled away from the curb.
And started coming toward us.
“DRIVE!”
This time my daughter screamed.
I hit the accelerator.
As we merged into traffic, I looked into the mirror.
The SUV followed.
At that moment, I stopped believing my daughter had merely signed the wrong papers.
Someone had stripped her of her home.
Her truck.
Her savings.
And now someone was following her through Phoenix.
May you like
But I still had no idea why.
Or why they were willing to destroy her life to keep her quiet.
