Is that a crime?” “Do you know anything about the boy?” Sarah asked softly. “Of course, my dear.” He smiled like an old friend.
“And that information can be yours. All it takes is…” “No,” James cut him off. “No more money.”
Harris set his glass down slowly. “Then I’m afraid this conversation is over. Pity.
Such a pity.” “It is a pity,” James pulled out his phone. “Because I’m calling the police now, and then we’re going to the DA and the press.”
“Empty threats,” Harris grimaced, but unease flickered in his eyes. “You’re a smart man,” James continued. “You know sooner or later one of your clients will crack. And then it’ll all come out.
The fake consultations, the extortion. Want to risk your reputation?” Harris’s smile vanished. “What do you want?” His voice hardened.
“The truth. Now. Are there really documents about my wife’s nephew?” Harris tapped his fingers on the table, then sighed heavily.
“No. There are no documents.”
Sarah swayed. James steadied her, helping her into a chair. “The woman from the hospital,” she whispered.
“There was no woman.” Harris avoided her gaze. “I heard about your story from mutual acquaintances.
Thought you’d be a good client.” “A good client?” Sarah’s voice broke. “You preyed on my grief!” “And the worst part?” Harris smirked.
“You believed so easily. You were so desperate to find the boy, you ignored the obvious. Never checked a single word I said.”
“Shut up,” James growled. “Here’s the deal. You return every cent.
Every last penny.” “Why would I?” “Or I’m at the police tomorrow. With printouts of every transfer.
With the message logs.” “Sure, proving extortion’s tough. But publicity? You don’t need that.
Do you, Mr. Therapist?” Harris drummed his fingers on the table. “Fine. How much total?” “Twenty-one thousand four hundred dollars,” Sarah said quietly.
“Alright,” Harris pulled out his phone. “We’ll do the transfer now.” “And one more thing,” James leaned closer.
“You never contact my wife again. No calls, no texts, no ‘chance’ meetings.” “Of course,” Harris was already typing on his phone.
“Here, first transfer. The rest by noon tomorrow.” Sarah’s phone pinged, confirming the deposit.
“Let’s go,” James helped Sarah up. “We’re done here.”
“You know,” Harris called after them. “The boy could’ve survived, theoretically.” “Goodbye,” James said sharply, leading Sarah away.
In the car, Sarah sobbed. Months of tension, hope, and fear collapsed. “I’m such an idiot,” she cried.
“How could I believe him?” “You’re not an idiot,” James held her. “You just loved your brother so much. You wanted to believe.”
“And you? You must’ve thought the worst. The restaurants, the spending…” “Yeah,” he gave a wry smile. “Nearly lost my mind when I saw the transfers.”
“I’m so sorry. For everything.” “Forgive me too. For not noticing how much you were hurting.
For not asking, not understanding.” His phone buzzed. A text from his mom.
“How are you guys?” “Let’s go home,” James started the car. “Mom’s probably going crazy.”
On the drive, Sarah stared out the window, silent. Once, she asked, “What if Harris was right? If, theoretically…” “No,” James said gently. “Don’t start again.
If there’s a chance to find your nephew, we’ll search. The legal way. Through databases, official requests.
I’ll help.” “Really?” “Of course. We’re family.”
At their building, he spotted a familiar figure. His mom was waiting, despite the late hour. “Looks like we’re in for a serious talk,” James sighed.
“And pies.” For the first time that evening, Sarah gave a faint smile. Margaret met them at the entrance.
“Thank goodness. I wore out the windows watching for your car.” She hugged Sarah, then James.
“Come on in. The pies are ready. Lily called, said she’s staying at her friend’s, working on a school project.”
The apartment smelled of baking and cinnamon. They sat in the kitchen, exhausted but calmer. Sarah told her story, choking back tears.
Margaret listened silently, shaking her head. “You know,” she said finally, “I remember that crash. And I remember a nurse.
Redhead, young.” Sarah froze, cup at her lips. “A redheaded nurse?” she repeated.
“Yeah. She was running around with papers, all flustered. Then, I recall, she just vanished.
They said she quit.” “Mom, can you describe her better?” James leaned forward. “Young, maybe twenty-five.
Red curly hair. And a mole, right here,” Margaret pointed to her cheek. “Real noticeable.”
“My God,” Sarah whispered, “then she was real.” “Don’t start again,” James took her hand. “It doesn’t prove anything.”
“But if we find that nurse…” “The hospital must have records,” Margaret added. “Employee files are kept for years.”
“That’s something concrete,” James nodded. “Not Harris’s lies, but a real lead.”
“Just not tonight,” he squeezed Sarah’s hand. “We all need rest.”
Sarah nodded, but her eyes held that familiar determination. James knew. She wouldn’t stop now.
But this time, he’d be by her side. This time, they’d search together. “The pies are getting cold,” Margaret fussed.
“I’ll reheat them.” Late that night, after Margaret went home, James and Sarah sat in the dim kitchen. Only the stove light glowed.
“You know,” Sarah said softly, “when Kevin died, I swore I’d never abandon his son. Then they told us the boy was gone too. I felt like I died inside.”
“That’s why you believed Harris so easily?” “Yeah. It was a chance to fix what I couldn’t save back then.” James hugged her.
“We’ll find the truth, whatever it is. But no more lies between us. Deal?” “Deal.”