I stared at it, the blue light reflecting on the frosted windshield.

I needed to get this to Lydia.

But more than that, I needed to know what Vivian Hartwell had to do with Sloane Whitaker.

I started the engine and drove away from the curb, my tires crunching on the thin layer of snow.

As I drove through the quiet streets of Newport, my mind went back to the text message.

*Is the Whitaker transition complete?*

Vivian had known Sloane’s real name before anyone else.

And she had referred to it as a transition.

I turned down a dark avenue, heading toward the small cottage I had rented under an assumed name.

My baby, June, was there with the nanny I had hired.

I had to keep her safe, but I also had to find the truth.

I parked in the driveway of the cottage and turned off the engine.

The silence inside the car was heavy.

I brought the tablet inside, keeping it hidden under my coat.

The nanny, a quiet woman named Maria, was sitting on the sofa.