Chapter 6 - The Shadows of the Past
While the Blackwood empire was being cleansed of its traitors, a small, unmarked gray sedan parked near the entrance of Central Park. Inside sat a woman with sharp, severe features and hair pulled back so tight it looked painful. Her name was Detective Sarah Jenkins, from the New York Department of Homeless Services, but her paycheck didn't come from the city. It came from a private collection agency owned by a man named Gregory Vance—the owner of the illegal group home Lily had escaped from three weeks ago.
Gregory Vance had spent two years using runaway children as unregistered labor for his network of private cleaning companies across the five boroughs. Lily had been his prize worker; she was small enough to fit into the air ducts and smart enough to catalog the inventory keys without making mistakes. When she ran, she hadn't just taken herself; she had taken a small leather notebook containing the real addresses of every child Gregory was currently hiding from the state system.
"We have a ping on the kid’s old jacket," the driver said, looking at a small digital receiver on the dashboard. "The tracking chip Gregory hid in the lining just activated. It’s coming from... wait, this can't be right."
Detective Jenkins leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the blinking red dot on the map. "Where is it?"
"The Blackwood Penthouse on 5th Avenue," the driver said, his voice dropping in disbelief. "The billionaire's tower. What the hell is a sewer rat doing up there?"
"She must have found an open window or a service lift," Jenkins growled, pulling her badge out of her pocket. "Or maybe she tried to lift something from the kid who fell in the park yesterday. The radio says Maxwell Blackwood’s son was hospitalized last night. If that little bitch got herself involved with the Blackwoods, Gregory’s entire operation is going to be blown wide open if the security teams start looking into her background."
"What do we do?"
"We go to the service entrance," Jenkins said, checking the small Glock pistol tucked into her ankle holster. "We use the city warrant for the recovery of a missing minor. The Blackwoods are big, but they can't ignore a legal order from the state department. We get the girl, we get the notebook, and we get out before Maxwell Blackwood even knows we were in his building."
Up in the penthouse, Lily was sitting on the floor of the kitchen, helping Mrs. Gable shell fresh peas into a silver bowl. She was wearing a new, simple green dress that fit her perfectly, her hair washed and braided into two neat tails that hung over her shoulders. She had refused to sit at the high marble island, preferring the safety of the floor near the pantry where she could see both exits.
"You’re very good at this, Lily," Mrs. Gable said, watching the girl’s small fingers move with a terrifying, mechanical efficiency. "Where did you learn to move so fast?"
Lily didn't look up. "Mr. Gregory said if we didn't finish forty bags before the sun went down, we didn't get the bread. If you move slow, you get the stick."
Mrs. Gable’s hand froze over her bowl. Her eyes filled with a sudden, hot anger that she quickly hid behind a smile. "Well, there are no sticks here, my lamb. And the bread is already baked."
The kitchen intercom buzzed with a sharp, dry sound.
"Mrs. Gable," the voice of the front desk security guard came through the speaker, tight and nervous. "We have an officer from the Department of Child Services at the service door. She has a signed state warrant for the immediate recovery of a runaway named Lily Tucker. She says if we don't release the minor within five minutes, she’s bringing the NYPD with an obstruction charge."
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Lily dropped her silver bowl. The green peas scattered across the white marble floor like small, rolling beads. Her face turned the color of old paper, and her gray-blue eyes dilated with a wild, primal terror that made her look seven years old again.
"They found me," she whispered, her body shaking so hard she couldn't stand up. "The chip. The chip in my coat."
