Chapter 8 - THE RACE TO THE SCHOOL
The manila folder lay on my dining table.
It felt like a bomb waiting to detonate.
EMMA LAWSON – PHASE TWO.
But I couldn’t look at it.
Not yet.
Because the only thing echoing in my mind was the phone call from the preschool.
Someone had tried to take Noah.
Someone who wasn't Ethan.
I didn't wait for Detective Mitchell to finish opening the file.
I didn't look at Ethan.
I didn't look at Claire.
I turned and ran for the front door.
"Mrs. Lawson!" Detective Mitchell called out.
I ignored her.
My father grabbed my arm as I passed him.
"Emma, wait, the police are securing the school."
"I don't care," I choked out.
"He's my son. I have to be there."
Dad didn't argue.
He simply walked out the door with me.
"I'm driving," he said.
I didn't fight him.
My hands were shaking too violently to hold a steering wheel.
The drive to the preschool took exactly eight minutes.
It felt like eight years.
I stared out the passenger window, my chest tight.
I couldn't breathe.
I literally couldn't pull air into my lungs.
Every worst-case scenario flashed behind my eyes.
What if the receptionist had been distracted?
What if the man had forced his way inside?
What if Noah was already gone?
The thought made me physically sick.
I leaned forward, pressing my forehead against the cold glass of the window.
"He's going to be fine," my dad said.
His voice was steady, but his knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
We pulled into the preschool parking lot.
Two police cruisers were already parked out front.
Their lights were flashing, reflecting off the glass doors.
I didn't wait for the car to stop completely.
I threw the door open and sprinted across the pavement.
"Ma'am, stop!" an officer yelled from the entrance.
"I'm Emma Lawson!" I screamed back.
"He's my son!"
The officer lowered his hand and opened the door for me.
I ran into the lobby.
The receptionist, Brenda, was standing behind her desk, looking pale.
But I didn't care about her.
I looked down the hallway.
And there he was.
Sitting on the colorful rug in the director's office.
Playing with a plastic fire truck.
Completely oblivious to the fact that his entire world had almost collapsed.
I fell to my knees.
I pulled him into my chest, wrapping my arms around him so tightly he squeaked.
"Mommy!" he laughed.
"You're squishing me."
I buried my face in his soft hair.
I smelled the faint scent of crayons and apple juice.
Tears streamed down my face.
"I know, baby," I whispered.
"I know."
I didn't let him go.
I couldn't.
Because I finally understood the terrifying truth.
Ethan didn't just want my money.
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He wanted my entire life.
And he had hired someone to help him steal it.
