I was 7 months pregnant at my brother’s engagement party when my dad handed my Mercedes keys to his fiancée like it was his gift to give. I demanded them back, but instead of

tablet.

It was grainy, but clear enough.

My father’s assistant, a man named Cole Mercer, was standing beside my Mercedes outside the medical building. He was opening the driver’s door with a key.

My throat went dry.

“Do you recognize him?” Officer Martinez asked.

“Yes,” I said. “He works for my father.”

She nodded. “We believe the car was moved to one of continue reading …