She stood up and walked to the window, looking down at the street below.

“The rain is picking up,” she said.

My phone buzzed in my purse.

I pulled it out, my fingers cold against the screen.

It was a text from an unknown number.

I opened the message.

It was a photograph.

It showed Lily sitting at a mahogany dining table, a porcelain teacup in front of her.

She looked small and pale, her eyes fixed on the camera.

Behind her stood Antoinette Harrow, her hand resting heavily on Lily’s shoulder.

The caption read: *She is waiting for her mother.*

“They’re at the Bellevue estate,” I said, showing the screen to Naomi.

“Don’t go alone,” Naomi said, turning back from the window. “I’ll call the police. We have a signed custody agreement now. Conrad has no legal right to keep her.”

“The police will take too long,” I said, my voice shaking. “By the time they get a warrant, Conrad will have her on a private plane to a country without extradition.”