I told my daughter I couldn’t babysit over Memorial Day because I had cataract surgery scheduled, and she texted, “You’re choosing yourself over your grandkids.” I didn’t argue, didn’t beg, just let the kettle whistle until the house went quiet. A week later, her husband was pounding on my porch at 7 a.m., after the bank called about a $19,400 debt.

I collapsed onto the kitchen island, unable to breathe as the horrific reality crushed my soul.

My own flesh and blood had discarded her innocent children like heavy baggage slowing down her escape.

Otis immediately dialed his contacts at the local police department to issue a statewide Amber Alert.

I refused to sit still and wait for the authorities to search the massive city.

I frantically tore through the remaining trash in the garage, desperately looking for any clue to their whereabouts.

Hidden beneath a pile of discarded fast-food bags, I found a cheap, prepaid burner phone with a cracked screen.

I plugged it into my car charger and held my breath as the screen slowly flickered to life.

There was only one contact saved in the entire phone, labeled simply with the letter N.

I dialed the number, my hands shaking so violently I could barely hold the device to my ear.

A young woman answered on the second ring, sounding incredibly annoyed and exhausted.

She identified herself as a private nanny that Caroline had hired off the internet just two hours ago.

She complained that she was sitting in a cheap, filthy motel room waiting for Caroline to bring the promised cash payment.

The nanny coldly threatened to leave the crying children completely alone in the room if the money didn't arrive in ten minutes.

I demanded the exact address of the motel, screaming that I was the grandmother and I was on my way.

Otis jumped into the driver's seat of my car, and we sped toward the dangerous side of town.

We pulled into the parking lot of the rundown motel just as a rusty black van skidded to a halt in front of us.

Two massive, heavily tattooed men stepped out of the van and walked purposefully toward the nanny's door.

They were not police officers, and they certainly were not social workers looking to help.

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I realized with absolute horror that Wade actually did owe money to dangerous loan sharks.

The criminals had tracked Caroline's burner phone and were here to collect the abandoned children as living collateral.

Chapter 5 - The Discarded Phone