Chapter 7
The jury deliberated for three hours.
They came back with the verdict.
Guilty.
On all counts.
Beatriz Hale was sentenced to twenty-five years in prison for child abuse, fraud, and conspiracy.
Rafael Torres got thirty years—more than Beatriz, because he’d used his position of trust to steal, and because he’d had a prior criminal record no one had known about.
As the guards led them away, Beatriz looked back at me.
Her face was twisted with hate.
“This isn’t over,” she mouthed.
I didn’t care.
It was over.
We went home.
Isabella and Maria made a cake to celebrate.
We ate it straight from the pan, sitting on the kitchen floor, laughing until our sides hurt.
For the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe.
The housing project was moving fast.
We were three months ahead of schedule.
Investors were happy.
The company was stable again.
We were going to be okay.
Then, three days after the verdict, I got a phone call from the warden of the prison where Beatriz was being held.
“Mr. Hale?”
“Yes?”
“I’m calling to let you know Beatriz Hale escaped this morning. She and two other inmates overpowered a guard during laundry detail. They stole a van. They’re armed and dangerous.”
My blood ran cold.
“Isabella,” I whispered.
I ran to the front door, locking it.
Then the back.
All the windows.
“Mr. Hale?” the warden said.
“Police are on their way to your house. We’ve got units searching the entire area. Just stay inside. Lock your doors. Don’t open for anyone.”
I hung up.
I ran to Isabella’s room.
She was at school.
Oh God.
She was at school.
I called the school.
No answer.
I called Maria—she’d gone to the grocery store.
No answer.
I grabbed my keys and ran to the car.
I drove to the school as fast as I could, running red lights, my heart hammering so hard I could hear it in my ears.
I skidded into the parking lot.
The front doors were wide open.
Parents were running everywhere, screaming.
Police cars were pulling up, sirens wailing.
I jumped out of the car and ran inside.
The principal was standing in the hallway, his face ashen.
“Where is she?” I shouted, grabbing his arm.
“Where is Isabella Hale?”
The principal looked at me, his eyes wide with fear.
“She’s gone, Mr. Hale. A woman matching Beatriz Hale’s description came in ten minutes ago. She said she was Isabella’s mom. She had a custody order—fake, we think now. The secretary let her sign her out. They left in a black van.”
I stumbled back.
No.
Not again.
I couldn’t lose her again.
A police officer ran up to me.
“Mr. Hale? We got a report of a black van heading toward the old coast road. We’ve got units chasing. But we need to know—does your ex-wife have any property out there? Any cabins? Any friends’ houses?”
I thought fast.
Beatriz had never owned property.
But Rafael had.
He’d had a small beach house on the coast, an hour outside town.
A place he’d said he used for “weekend getaways.”
A place he’d never let me visit.
“The old Torres beach house,” I said, already running back to my car.
“On the north coast, past the lighthouse!”
I drove faster than I’d ever driven in my life.
The tires screeched around corners.
The engine roared.
Thirty minutes.
Forty.
Fifty.
I saw the lighthouse up ahead.
Then the turnoff to the beach house.
A black van was parked outside, its engine still warm.
I skidded to a stop behind it, jumping out before the car was even fully stopped.
The house was small.
Weathered.
All the windows were dark.
I ran to the front door.
Locked.
I stepped back and kicked it as hard as I could.
The wood splintered.
The door flew open.
I ran inside.
“Isabella!”
No answer.
I checked the living room.
The kitchen.
The bedrooms.
Empty.
Then I heard a small sound from the back porch.
A whimper.
I ran through the back door.
Beatriz was there.
She was holding Isabella tight, one arm around her chest, the other holding a knife to her throat.
Isabella’s face was streaked with tears.
She was gagged, her hands tied behind her back.
“Stop right there,” Beatriz said, her voice wild, her eyes bloodshot.
“Or I’ll kill her. I swear to God I will.”
I stopped, my hands up.
“Beatriz. Let her go. This doesn’t have to end like this.”
“Shut up!” she screamed.
“You took everything from me! My life! My freedom! You think I’m going to let you win? If I’m going to hell, I’m taking her with me.”
She pressed the knife harder against Isabella’s throat.
A small line of red appeared.
Isabella whimpered again.
“Please,” I said, my voice breaking.
“Take me. Let her go. She’s just a kid. She didn’t do anything to you.”
Beatriz laughed, a sharp, crazy sound.
“You think I care about her? She’s nothing. Just a spoiled little brat who ruined everything. But she’s the only thing you love. So I’m going to kill her right in front of you. And then I’ll kill you. And then we’ll all be even.”
She raised the knife.
Time slowed down.
I saw Isabella’s eyes.
Wide.
Terrified.
But not defeated.
She bit down hard on Beatriz’s arm.
Beatriz screamed, loosening her grip.
Isabella twisted free, running toward me.
Beatriz swung the knife wildly.
It sliced across Isabella’s upper arm.
She fell, crying out.
I ran.
I tackled Beatriz to the ground, knocking the knife out of her hand.
I punched her once, twice, until she stopped fighting.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
I ran to Isabella, gathering her into my arms.
Her arm was bleeding, but it wasn’t deep.
She was alive.
She was okay.
“I got you, baby,” I whispered, rocking her back and forth.
“I got you. You’re safe now.”
The police ran onto the porch seconds later.
They pulled Beatriz away, cuffed her, dragged her screaming into a squad car.
An ambulance arrived, paramedics tending to Isabella’s cut.
She sat on the back of the ambulance, a bandage on her arm, leaning against me.
“I was brave, Dad,” she whispered.
May you like
I kissed the top of her head.
“You were the bravest person in the whole world.”
