Chapter 9 - The Man Across the Street
The private investigator’s name was Cole Mercer.
Daniel identified him through the metadata on one of Ryan’s forwarded photographs.
Cole had photographed me at the grocery store, the pediatrician’s office, a coffee shop, and even Grandma’s driveway.
The images covered six weeks.
In some, I was crying.
In one, Sophie screamed in her car seat while I stood outside the car with both hands over my face.
Without context, it looked terrible.
“This is what he was building,” I said.
Daniel nodded. “A visual narrative.”
Ryan’s custody filing suddenly made perfect sense. He was not trying to prove I was dangerous. He was collecting enough isolated moments to make me look unstable.
We subpoenaed Cole’s records.
Before the court could act, Cole called me himself.
“I need to talk,” he said.
“Talk to my lawyer.”
“I did. He said I could speak if I wanted.”
We met in Daniel’s conference room with the door open and everything recorded.
Cole looked nervous when he sat down.
“Ryan hired me to document neglect,” he said.
“There was no neglect.”
“I figured that out.”
“When?”
“The second week.”
“Then why keep following me?”
“Because he was paying me.”
He looked ashamed. Good.
“Did you stage anything?” Daniel asked.
“No.”
“Did Ryan ask you to?”
Cole hesitated.
“He wanted me to call in an anonymous welfare complaint,” he said.
“About Sophie?”
“I refused.”
“When?”
“Three days before he kicked you out.”
Daniel leaned forward. “Anything else?”
Cole pulled a small recorder from his jacket pocket.
“I record client instructions when something feels wrong.”
He pressed play.
Ryan’s voice filled the room.
“If she ends up at Evelyn’s, that’s fine. The point is to establish she can’t support herself. No job. No independent income. Emotional issues. The baby stays with me.”
Then my mother’s voice answered.
“She’ll come back once she’s scared enough.”
I stopped breathing.
Mom had been in the room.
Ryan continued, “And if she doesn’t?”
Linda laughed softly.
“Then we use the papers.”
“What papers?”
Cole swallowed.
“I asked the same thing.”
“And?”
“He showed me one.”
May you like
Cole reached into his bag.
“It was a psychiatric commitment petition with your name already typed on it.”
