Sylvia froze, her hands hovering over the laptop keyboard.
Brendan could see what she had been working on: airline reservations, searches for fake passports, encrypted messages to someone about safe houses in South America.
“Brendan,” she breathed.
And there was real fear in her voice now.
Good. She should be afraid.
“You put my daughter up for sale.”
“I didn’t—it wasn’t—” Sylvia’s voice cracked. “I was desperate. Stanton said he’d kill Adrien if I didn’t pay. I didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
Brendan pulled out his phone and placed it on the table in front of her, opening a voice-recording app.
“You’re going to tell me everything. Every detail of how this network operates. Every buyer, every facilitator, every safe house. You’re going to give me information that will save other children. And then we’re going to discuss what happens next.”
“And if I refuse?”
Brendan pressed the pistol harder against her skull.
“You auctioned an eight-year-old child to predators. You think I’m here to negotiate?”
Sylvia started talking.
She talked for two hours, her voice growing hoarse as the story spilled out. She confirmed what Brendan had suspected. The network was larger than just Stanton’s operation. There were connections to corrupt officials, offshore financial structures, buyers in a dozen countries. She provided names, accounts, meeting locations, everything.
Brendan recorded it all.
This information would go to the FBI, to Interpol, to every agency working to dismantle human-trafficking networks. The intel alone would save dozens of lives.
When she was done, Sylvia slumped in her chair.
“Are you going to kill me?”
Brendan looked at her for a long moment.
“I should.”
Then he holstered his pistol and pulled out a sat phone instead. He called a number he had memorized years ago—a direct line to Sharon Holt.
“How about Sylvia Castro in West Virginia? I’m sending coordinates now. She’s got evidence that’ll take down the rest of the network. You’ll want to move fast before her partner wakes up.”
Sylvia’s eyes went wide.
“You’re turning me in. That’s it?”
“What did you expect? A bullet?”
Brendan leaned close.
“You’re going to spend the rest of your life in prison. You’ll be convicted of conspiracy to commit human trafficking, attempted kidnapping, and about a dozen other charges. The other inmates will know what you did. Child traffickers don’t last long in general population. Every day you wake up will be a reminder of what you destroyed.”
“Please,” Sylvia whispered. “Please, I’m sorry. I never meant for Emma to actually—”
“You posted her photo. You described her training. You set the price at $2.4 million and watched the bids climb. You knew exactly what you were doing.”
Brendan stood.
“You’re not sorry you did it. You’re sorry you got caught.”
He left her there sobbing at the table.
Outside, Hansen was starting to stir. Brendan put him back down just as efficiently and left him trussed up for the FBI to collect. By the time Brendan reached his truck, he could hear helicopters in the distance. Federal agents would secure the cabin, take Sylvia and Hansen into custody, and collect every piece of evidence. The laptop alone would be worth its weight in gold to investigators.
Brendan’s phone buzzed.
A text from Raymond.
Kids are being reunited with families. Em is asking for you.
He started the engine and headed south toward home.
The revenge he had imagined—visceral, violent, final—hadn’t materialized in the end. Watching Sylvia face justice felt more satisfying than any alternative. She would spend decades in a cage, branded as the worst kind of criminal, forever known as the woman who tried to sell her niece.
That was enough.
Emma ran into his arms the moment Brendan walked into Moren’s shelter. She clung to him with a ferocity that made his chest tighten, her face buried against his shoulder.
“You came back,” she said, her voice muffled.
“I’ll always come back.”
Brendan held her close, breathing in the familiar strawberry-shampoo scent.
“Always.”
“Did you catch the bad guys?”
