Detective Miller met us near the metal detectors.

He was a short, stocky man in a rumpled navy suit, with tired eyes that seemed to take in every detail of my posture.

He led us down a narrow hallway into a small, windowless interview room.

The table was gray laminate, scratched with initials near the edges.

My father set his phone down on the table, along with a small black flash drive.

“This is the full backup of the nursery camera,” my father said.

“Play the file from three nights ago first,” I said, my voice shaking.

Miller pulled a rugged laptop toward him and inserted the flash drive.

The audio filled the small room, louder and clearer than it had been in the truck.

We listened to Courtney’s sneering voice demanding the signature.

We listened to the sharp, wet slap that followed.

Detective Miller’s pen stopped moving across his yellow notepad.

Then came Ethan’s voice, flat and entirely devoid of emotion.

“Then pressure her until she does. We need her life savings for the house deposit.”

Miller looked up from his screen, his gaze fixing on me.