Chapter 8 - The Confrontation at Montgomery Manor
The Montgomery estate was a sprawling twenty-acre compound surrounded by ten-foot iron gates and mature oak trees.
David pulled the SUV into a dark tree line three hundred yards from the service entrance. He left Mark zipped-tied to the steering column with a local police tip already dialed on a burner phone.
"Emma," David said, handing me a heavy flash drive containing the DNA reports, audio recordings, and Mark's financial logs. "Stay behind me."
We moved through the dark gardens like ghosts. The storm provided perfect cover, the heavy rain masking the sound of our footsteps.
David bypassed the security panel on the side door of the west wing using a bypass tool he had carried from his police days. The heavy oak door clicked open softly.
Inside, the west wing smelled of expensive flowers, disinfectant, and fresh paint.
We moved down the carpeted hallway until we heard voices coming from a sunlit nursery decorated with gold leaf and Italian silk.
Inside stood Evelyn Montgomery—wearing an elegant silk robe, holding a tiny baby wrapped in a yellow cashmere blanket. Beside her stood Richard Montgomery, a tall man with silver hair, and a crooked doctor holding a clipboard.
"The birth certificate is pre-dated to yesterday morning, Mr. Montgomery," the doctor was saying. "Once I upload this to the state registry, the child is legally yours."
"Excellent," Richard Montgomery said, pulling a pen from his breast pocket.
"Don't sign that paper," I said, stepping into the nursery doorway.
Evelyn gasped, clutching the baby to her chest. Richard whirled around, his face hardening into immediate, arrogant hostility.
"Who the hell are you?" Richard snapped. "Security!"
"Your security guards are asleep near the gatehouse, Mr. Montgomery," David said, stepping beside me, his hands resting near his belt.
I walked straight toward Evelyn Montgomery. I didn't look at her diamonds, her silk robe, or her security guards. I looked at the baby in her arms.
May you like
On the child's left heel, visible beneath the edge of the yellow blanket, was a distinct, tiny strawberry mark.
My daughter. My real baby girl.
