“My mother’s arrest is already on the police scanner,” I said.

I pulled the kitchen shades down, blocking the view.

“Maren, we need to get the kids and leave,” I said.

“Where?” she asked. “This is our home.”

“I have a cabin in Maine,” I said. “No one knows about it. It’s under a corporate name.”

She looked at the ceiling again.

“They are in their pajamas,” she said.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Pack a bag for a week. We need to go now.”

My phone lit up again.

It was a call from the managing partner of my investment firm.

I ignored it.

Then, another text message arrived.

This one was from an unknown number.

It was an image.

I tapped the screen to open it.

It was a photograph of Maren’s house, taken from the street just a minute ago.

Below the image was a short message.

“We know where the twins are, Adrian. Let’s talk before we print.”

I felt a cold sweat break out on my neck.

“Maren,” I said, my voice tight. “Pack the bags. Now.”