She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her phone.

“What are you doing, Vanessa?” Evelyn demanded.

“I am calling my father’s press secretary,” Vanessa said, her voice steadying. “And then I am calling the police.”

“Vanessa, think of the campaign,” Evelyn said, reaching for the phone.

Vanessa pulled her hand away, her eyes flashing with anger.

“The campaign is over for the Whitmores,” Vanessa said clearly. “I am publicly withdrawing my support for Grant, effective immediately.”

She looked at me, a brief flash of sympathy crossing her face.

“I had no idea, Emily,” she said. “I would never have helped him do this.”

Before I could answer, the double doors at the back of the lobby clicked open.

Two airport police officers walked in, escorting the pilot of the private jet.

Behind them, holding a small pink backpack, was a female security guard.

My heart stopped.

“Rosie!” I screamed.

The guard stepped aside, and Rosie ran out from behind her.

Her small sneakers squeaked on the polished tile floor.

“Mommy!” Rosie cried, her face streaked with tears.