Brendan’s blood went cold. Raymond never contacted him about work issues through personal channels. He pulled out his laptop and logged into his encrypted military account.
One new message from Raymond.
Saw this on a dark web monitoring sweep. Thought you should know.
The attachment loaded slowly. When it finally appeared, Brendan’s vision tunneled.
It was Emma’s school photo from this year, the one where she was missing her front tooth and grinning despite her self-consciousness about it. The same photo that hung on his refrigerator. The same photo Sylvia had asked to copy last month for a scrapbook, or so she’d claimed.
Above the photo, in bold text:
Military brat for sale. Trained by Navy SEAL father. Resilient, intelligent, prime acquisition.
Below it, an auction timer counting down.
Five hours, forty-three minutes.
Current bid: $2.4 million.
Brendan’s hands didn’t shake as he screenshotted every detail of the auction page. Years of training had taught him to compartmentalize, to function even when his world was ending. But inside, a cold rage was building, the kind he had only felt a handful of times in his life.
He called Raymond.
“Where did you find this?”
“Anonymous tip came through our monitoring network. Someone wanted us to see it.” Raymond’s voice was tight. “Brendan, the metadata on that photo—it was uploaded four hours ago from a residential IP address in Virginia Beach.”
Virginia Beach. Where Adrien and Sylvia lived.
“Can you trace the server hosting the auction?”
Brendan was already moving, pulling out the tactical gear he kept locked in his safe. Emma was still upstairs, still safe, but the auction had his home address listed as her location. They had less than six hours before someone might show up to collect their purchase.
“Already on it. Listen, man, I looped in the CO. She wants to talk to you.”
Brendan switched to his secure line. Commander Sharon Holt answered on the first ring.
“Castro, I saw the auction listing. I’ve got FBI cybercrimes looking at it now.”
“With respect, ma’am, FBI cyber takes days to move. That auction closes in under six hours.”
“Which is why I’m authorizing a direct action.” Sharon’s voice softened slightly. “Brendan, I’ve got kids too. We’re going to find these people, but I need you to stand down until we have a team assembled.”
“Ma’am, that’s not going to happen.”
“Senior Chief, don’t make me confine you to base.”
Brendan forced his voice steady. “Understood, Commander.”
He hung up and immediately started packing.
Orders were orders, but Emma was his daughter. If Sharon thought he was going to sit on his hands while predators circled his child, she didn’t know him as well as she thought.
His phone rang again.
Adrien.
“Brendan, Sylvia wanted me to call. She’s sorry about earlier. She was out of line with the custody thing. We’d love to have Emma over this weekend, make it up to her.”
“No.”
The word came out flat and final.
“Come on, man. Don’t let adult disagreements affect Emma. She loves spending time with us.”
Brendan thought about the IP address, about Sylvia’s sudden interest in custody, about that photo she had taken.
“Adrien, I need you to be straight with me. Does Sylvia have financial problems I don’t know about?”
The pause was too long.
“What? No. Why would you—”
“Because $2.4 million is a lot of money. Enough to pay off a gambling debt, or a blackmail demand, or whatever hole she’s dug herself into.”
“Brendan, what are you talking about?”
But Adrien’s voice had gone hollow. He knew. Maybe not the details, but he knew Sylvia had done something.
“Check your wife’s computer, her phone, her bank accounts. And when you find what I’m talking about, you have two choices. You turn her in yourself, or I will. But either way, she’s never seeing Emma again.”
He disconnected and blocked the number.
Then he texted Raymond.
I need everything you can pull on Sylvia Castro. Bank records, online activity, associates. Everything.
Emma appeared in the doorway, her math book clutched to her chest.
“Dad, what’s happening?”
