Chapter 4 - The Shark Attorney
The screen of my phone went completely dark, leaving us blind in the desolate industrial park.
"They found the tracker and destroyed it," Sarah whispered, her voice trembling with fear.
I refused to sit in the car and weep while my newborn son was in the hands of a monster.
"We are going inside," I declared, ignoring the shooting pain in my surgical wound.
Sarah stopped me, pulling a business card from her wallet with a fierce look of determination.
"We cannot do this alone without ending up dead or in jail," she argued reasonably.
She dialed the number on the card, connecting directly to Ms. Vance, the most ruthless family lawyer in the state.
Ms. Vance answered on the first ring, listening intently to our desperate situation.
"Do not enter that warehouse, Emily, you are walking into a legal and physical trap," Ms. Vance warned through the speaker.
The lawyer explained that breaking and entering would give Michael the ultimate proof to terminate my parental rights.
"I will not leave without my baby," I cried, staring at the imposing steel doors of the warehouse.
Ms. Vance promised to meet us at the location with a team of private investigators within twenty minutes.
We waited in agonizing silence, watching the rain start to fall on the cracked pavement.
When Ms. Vance arrived, she stepped out of a sleek black sedan, holding a thick legal briefcase.
She was a formidable woman with sharp features and an aura of absolute authority.
She handed me a verified document that she had rushed through an appellate court judge.
"The custody order signed by Judge Miller is entirely invalid because it was executed before the child was legally born," she explained.
We finally had the legal leverage needed to reclaim my son.
Ms. Vance signaled her investigators, who expertly picked the lock on the warehouse's side door.
We slipped inside the massive building, the smell of damp concrete and motor oil filling our lungs.
The warehouse was completely empty, save for a single wooden crate sitting in the center of the floor.
I ran toward the crate, my heart hammering with desperate hope.
Resting on top of the wood was the baby blanket I had packed, completely shredded and ruined.
My son was nowhere to be found.
"This was a decoy to waste our time," Ms. Vance muttered, analyzing the scene.
Suddenly, the heavy metal bay doors of the warehouse began to slowly roll open.
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Michael’s luxury SUV was parked right outside, the headlights blinding us in the dark space.
He stepped out of the vehicle, holding a heavy, black handgun aimed directly at my chest.
