Chapter 2 - The Memory Card
Rob refused to open the memory card on any school computer.
He treated it as potential evidence.
That decision turned out to matter.
By 1:30 that afternoon, Lily and I were sitting inside a small interview room at the police station while a digital-forensics technician examined the card.
Lily had stopped crying.
But she hadn’t let go of my hand.
Mrs. Sharp had been brought to the station separately.
Not under arrest.
Not yet.
Principal Henderson was being interviewed too.
I watched Lily draw circles on a sheet of paper.
“You hungry?”
She shook her head.
“You barely ate breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry.”
I hated hearing that.
Normally Lily could demolish half a pizza and ask whether dessert counted as dinner.
I leaned closer.
“Hey.”
She looked up.
“None of this is because of you.”
“But if I told Mrs. Sharp about Emma—”
“No.”
I stopped her immediately.
“Adults are responsible for what adults do.”
She stared at me.
“You did the right thing telling the truth.”
The door opened.
Rob entered.
One look at his face told me the situation had gotten worse.
“Can Lily stay with someone?”
My stomach dropped.
“How bad?”
“I need to speak with you privately.”
Lily heard him.
“Is Mrs. Sharp going to jail?”
Rob crouched.
“We’re figuring out what happened.”
“Did she steal her own money?”
Rob glanced at me.
“That’s one of the things we’re investigating.”
Officer Martinez took Lily to another room where a child-services specialist was waiting.
Once the door closed, Rob sat across from me.
“What was on the card?”
“Video.”
“From the classroom?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“About six weeks.”
I stared at him.
Six weeks of children being secretly recorded.
“Why?”
“We don’t know yet.”
He slid a photograph across the table.
It was a still frame.
Mrs. Sharp stood alone in Classroom 205.
Timestamp:
October 3.
6:17 p.m.
She was photographing something on her desk.
“What am I looking at?”
“Student files.”
I looked closer.
“Those are confidential records.”
“Yes.”
Another photograph.
Mrs. Sharp at a computer.
Another.
Mrs. Sharp opening a cabinet.
Another.
A man I didn’t recognize standing beside her.
“Who’s he?”
“We’re identifying him.”
I studied the image.
Mid-forties.
Expensive suit.
Silver watch.
He had placed a folder on Mrs. Sharp’s desk.
Rob slid over another still.
The man handed her an envelope.
“Money?” I asked.
“We don’t know.”
Then came another frame.
And I stopped breathing.
Lily.
She was standing near the classroom door.
Mrs. Sharp and the stranger were behind her.
Timestamp:
Yesterday.
3:41 p.m.
“That’s when she kept Lily after class.”
Rob nodded.
“What happened?”
“Watch.”
He turned a tablet toward me.
The footage played.
There was no sound.
Lily stood beside Mrs. Sharp’s desk.
Mrs. Sharp questioned her.
Lily shook her head.
The teacher leaned toward her.
Pointed.
Lily backed away.
Then the stranger entered.
Mrs. Sharp immediately stopped.
The man saw Lily.
And his entire body changed.
He turned away from the camera.
Mrs. Sharp rushed Lily toward the door.
But before Lily left, the man dropped something.
A folder opened.
Several photographs spilled out.
Lily bent automatically to help.
The stranger grabbed them.
But not before Lily saw one.
I froze the footage.
“Zoom in.”
Rob did.
A photograph lay face-up.
It showed a house.
My house.
I stared at Rob.
“Why does that man have a picture of my home?”
“We don’t know.”
My pulse began pounding.
Rob changed the frame.
Another photograph.
My truck.
Another.
Me and Lily walking through a grocery-store parking lot.
“This isn’t about school.”
“No.”
“Who is he?”
“We’re working on it.”
I stood.
“I want Lily out of here.”
“Daniel—”
“Someone has been photographing my daughter.”
“I know.”
“Then why are we sitting here?”
“Because whoever that man is, he may already know where you would take her.”
That stopped me.
Rob leaned forward.
“Listen to me. Until we identify him, you and Lily don’t go home.”
I stared at my oldest friend.
Six years since we had spoken.
Six years since I had walked away from that part of my life.
And now he was telling me someone had been watching my child.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Rob hesitated.
That frightened me more than anything else.
“Daniel, the technician recovered deleted files.”
“What kind?”
“Financial documents.”
“Whose?”
“Several parents from the school.”
He slid a printed list toward me.
Names.
Addresses.
Income information.
Custody records.
Divorce documents.
Medical information.
Then I saw mine.
Daniel Bennett.
I looked up.
“What is this?”
“Someone has been collecting information about vulnerable families.”
“Why?”
“We’re trying to determine that.”
A knock came at the door.
An officer entered.
“Colonel.”
He handed Rob a note.
Rob read it.
His expression hardened.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“The man in the video has been identified.”
“Who?”
“Charles Vane.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“Should I know him?”
“No.”
Rob paused.
“But Principal Henderson does.”
“Why?”
“Because Vane runs a private educational consulting company.”
“So?”
Rob put the paper down.
“His company has contracts with three child-placement agencies.”
My stomach turned.
“Child placement?”
“Foster services.”
I thought about Mrs. Sharp’s threat.
Maybe Child Protective Services should look into your home too.
Suddenly it sounded different.
Not random.
Not cruel.
Planned.
“What exactly are you saying?”
May you like
Rob looked directly at me.
“I’m saying we need to find out why a teacher who secretly collected information on families threatened to have your daughter removed from yours.”
