Inside, the apartment was warm and quiet.

I had spent hours cleaning it the night before, preparing for Renee Whitaker’s visit.

It was small, with only two bedrooms and a combined living and dining area.

But it was filled with life.

Nolan’s telescope sat by the window, pointing toward the night sky.

His drawings of the solar system were taped neatly to his bedroom wall.

I sat down at the small wooden kitchen table, my hands still trembling.

I thought about Grant’s house in West Knoxville.

It was a massive, five-bedroom brick home with a manicured lawn and a three-car garage.

But it was cold.

The walls were bare, and the furniture looked like it belonged in a magazine, not a home where a child lived.

Grant had the money, the influence, and an aggressive lawyer like Preston Carroway.

I had a modest apartment, a retail job, and the truth.

I looked at the photos of Nolan’s drawings on my phone again.

The dates Nolan had written down matched the weeks Grant claimed he was out of town on business.