Chapter 9
Chapter 9: The First Honest Beginning
An hour later, Claire Moreau did not walk into a high-end boutique or a charity gala. She walked, hand-in-hand with a damp, exhausted boy, into the harsh, fluorescent-lit lobby of the Midtown precinct station.
She wasn't there to hand him over to social services. She marched up to the front desk to file a formal, explosive complaint against Saint Jerome’s clinic, against her father’s multi-million dollar estate, and against every single lawyer and doctor who had helped bury her son alive on paper.
The desk officer, a weary-looking sergeant, looked at the glamorous woman and the street kid, clearly confused by the pairing.
"Name for the report?" the officer asked, clicking his pen.
"Claire Moreau," she said clearly.
"And the child's relationship to you, ma'am?"
Claire looked down at Nico first. She didn't want to assume. She didn't want to push him.
Nico looked up at the tall desk, then at the police officer, taking a long, deep breath.
"She is trying to be my mother," he said.
May you like
Claire nodded, squeezing his hand tightly. It was not forgiveness. It was not a neat, happy ending. But it was the first honest beginning either of them had ever been given, and she was ready to fight the world to keep it.
"Write it down, officer," Claire said, her eyes flashing with a dangerous, newfound fire. "And then call the District Attorney. We have a kidnapping to report."
