Chapter 2

I drove home from Innovatech, the city lights blurring past. The conversation with Kevin, then Ms. Davis, replayed in my mind.

My success hadn't come easy. I'd built Innovatech from the ground up, fueled by coffee and a relentless drive my father, a self-made man himself, had instilled in me.

But somewhere along the way, while chasing billion-dollar valuations and market dominance, I'd let other things slide.

Emily. My sweet, bright Emily.

I was the "Tech Queen," splashed across magazine covers. But what about being a mom?

Lately, Emily had been... different. Quieter. More reserved. I'd chalked it up to me working too much, the stress of my latest acquisition bleeding into our already limited time together.

Tonight, Kevin's dismissiveness, the teacher's nervousness... it all pointed to something more than just a copied cake.

I vowed to make a change. Starting now. More time with Emily. Less time being CEO, more time being Mom.

The guilt was a familiar companion, but tonight it had teeth.

I pulled into the driveway of our Atherton home. The house was dark, except for a dim light in the kitchen.

Kevin's car was gone. Probably out with "clients."

I let myself in. The silence was heavy.

I found Emily in the family room, curled up on the oversized sofa. Not with her favorite interactive storybook, but with the TV blaring some mindless cartoon.

She was spooning cheap, sugary cereal hoops directly from the box into her mouth. Her eyes were wide, unfocused.

My heart clenched.

"Emily, honey?"

She jumped, cereal scattering. Her eyes, usually bright with curiosity, were dull. Fear flickered in them before she quickly masked it.

Maria, our nanny, bustled in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. Kevin's distant cousin, someone he'd insisted we hire. "Reliable," he'd said. "Family."

"Oh, Ms. Miller! You're home early!" Maria's smile was too wide, too bright. It didn't reach her eyes. "I was just about to get Emily's dinner ready."

"Dinner?" I looked at the cereal box, then at the clock. It was nearly ten. "She's eating cereal for dinner?"

"She said she was hungry now," Maria said, her voice smooth. "You know children, Ms. Miller. When they want something..." She shrugged, a picture of helpless indulgence.

Emily stared at her feet, silent.

"Emily, baby, did you ask for cereal?" I knelt beside her.

She nodded, a tiny, jerky movement, without looking at me. She seemed almost afraid to speak.

Maria beamed. "See? She was just peckish. I'll make her a proper meal now, of course."

She hurried back to the kitchen.

I looked at Emily, at the way her small shoulders hunched. This wasn't my vibrant, chatty daughter.

"Did you have a good day at school, sweetie?"

Another small nod.

"Did you play with your friends?"

A barely perceptible shake of her head.

I pulled her into my arms. She felt small, fragile. Her hair smelled faintly of something artificial, not her usual strawberry shampoo.

Later, during bath time, I saw them.

Faint, purplish bruises on her upper arms. Small, finger-shaped marks.

My blood ran cold.

"Emily, what happened here?" I touched a bruise gently.

She flinched.

"I... I fell, Mommy," she whispered, her eyes darting towards the bathroom door, as if expecting Maria to appear. "Playing. I'm clumsy."

Clumsy? These weren't scrape-your-knee-on-the-playground bruises.

And then she said something that made the hairs on my neck stand up.

"Maria gives me special sleepy juice at night, Mommy. It tastes funny. It makes me sleep very, very deep." Her voice was a tiny thread. "Sometimes... sometimes I wake up and my bed is wet."

Special sleepy juice?

My mind raced. The change in Emily's behavior. The fear in her eyes. The bruises.

I hugged her tight, a cold fury building inside me.

"Don't worry, baby," I whispered, my voice trembling slightly. "Mommy's here now. Mommy will fix it."

I had installed a state-of-the-art smart security system throughout the house when we moved in. Kevin thought it was just for external threats. He didn't know about the internal cameras, the cloud storage, the discreet microphones.

Tonight, I was going to find out exactly what had been happening in my home.