My family abandoned me on a summer trip as a cruel joke, laughing as they drove away and said, “Let’s see if she can handle it.” I never returned, and fifteen years later, when they finally found me,

Linda sucked in a sharp breath. Her mouth opened and then shut again. Richard’s gaze moved over my navy suit, the badge clipped at my waist, and the calm expression I had trained myself to wear in courtrooms and funerals. Brooke looked down first. Mason did not. He stared at me with an irritated kind of disbelief, as if my survival had personally offended him.

“Erin,” Linda whispered.

“My legal name is Erin Voss,” I said, sitting in the chair across from them.

Her eyes filled immediately. She had always known how to cry when needed. As a child, I thought that meant she felt emotions deeply. Later, I learned some people used tears the way other people used keys.

“I thought you were dead,” she said.

“No, you didn’t.”

Richard’s attorney shifted in his seat. “My client is not here to be accused without—”

Daniel Mercer lifted one finger. “Your client has been accused in a forty-six-count federal indictment. This meeting was requested by your clients. Agent Voss is here voluntarily.”

Richard leaned closer. “You have no idea what happened back then.”

“I have Brooke’s original footage,” I said.

Brooke flinched.

I looked at her. “You kept it.”

Her lips shook. “I forgot it existed.”

“No. You labeled the storage drive ‘Summer Breakdown Raw.’ You transferred it twice. The metadata is intact.”

The silence in the room grew heavy.

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