Olivia
The plan to extract Sarah-Jane's daughter, Lily, was the most dangerous and ethically questionable thing I had ever done. It involved a forged court order, a sympathetic social worker who owed me a favor, and a small, private plane chartered by Ethan's foundation under the guise of a "charitable transport." It was illegal, it was reckless, and it was the only way.
Sarah-Jane's husband, Michael Jr., was scheduled to be in a meeting across town at 3:00 PM. That gave us a one-hour window. The plan was simple: the social worker, armed with the forged emergency custody order, would go to the Connolly estate and remove the child, citing evidence of an unsafe environment. I would be waiting nearby to take custody of Lily and get her to the airfield, where Ethan's plane would be waiting to fly her to a secure location where my parents were waiting.
Every part of me, the lawyer, the officer of the court, screamed that this was wrong. But the part of me that had looked into Sarah-Jane's terrified eyes knew it was the only choice.
I didn't tell Ethan the details. I just told him I needed a plane, no questions asked. The fact that he provided it, without a single protest, was a testament to the trust we had, even in the midst of our secrets.
At 2:45 PM, I was parked in a quiet suburban street a mile from the Connolly estate, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I was in constant communication with the social worker, a brave, middle-aged woman named Maria, and with Jake, who was monitoring the estate's security cameras and Michael Jr.'s location via his cell phone.
"He's still at the office," Jake's voice crackled over the encrypted line. "You're clear. Maria is approaching the gate."
I watched the minutes tick by on the car's dashboard clock. Each one felt like an hour. My hands were slick with sweat. This was it. The point of no return.
"She's in," Jake reported. "The guards bought the court order. She's walking up to the house."
I held my breath. The next few minutes would determine everything. If something went wrong, if they discovered the forgery, Maria would be in grave danger. And the entire case would implode.
"She has the girl," Jake said, his voice tense. "She's coming out. They're walking back to her car."
I felt a wave of relief so intense it almost made me sick. It was working.
"Wait," Jake said suddenly. "Shit. There's a problem. Michael Jr. is on the move. He left the meeting early. His car is heading back to the estate. Fast. He'll be there in less than five minutes."
Panic, cold and absolute, seized me. "Maria, get out of there now!" I yelled into the phone.
"I'm trying," she said, her voice strained. "The guards are asking questions. They must have called it in."
I could hear shouting in the background. My blood ran cold. He was going to get there before she could leave. He would find her. He would find his daughter gone.
I had to make a choice. I could run. I could stick to the plan, save myself, and leave Maria to her fate. Or I could intervene.
I didn't even have to think about it. I put the car in drive and slammed my foot on the accelerator, racing towards the estate.
"Olivia, what are you doing?" Jake shouted in my ear. "Get out of there! It's too dangerous."
"I'm not leaving her," I said, my voice grim. I was a prosecutor. I had a duty to protect my witness, and by extension, the brave woman who was helping her.
I screeched to a halt at the main gate just as a sleek, black sedan pulled up from the other direction. Michael Connolly Jr. got out of the car. He was a handsome man, with his father's cruel eyes and a brutish, powerful build. He saw the social worker's car, saw the guards holding Maria by the arms, and his face contorted into a mask of pure rage.
I got out of my car, my heart pounding but my voice steady. "Michael Connolly Jr.?" I said, my best courtroom voice, full of an authority I did not feel. "I'm Assistant District Attorney Olivia Chen. We need to have a word."
He turned to me, his eyes blazing. "Who the hell are you? What is she doing with my daughter?"
"There have been allegations of child endangerment," I said, bluffing with all my might. "We have a court order to remove the child pending an investigation."
"A court order?" he sneered, stalking towards me. "You have nothing. You're trespassing. Get off my property before I have you removed."
He was trying to intimidate me, to bully me into backing down. But I had faced down murderers in the courtroom. I was not going to be intimidated by a thug in a thousand-dollar suit.
"Your father-in-law's influence doesn't extend to my office, Mr. Connolly," I said, my voice cold as ice. "You can cooperate with this investigation, or you can explain to a judge why you're obstructing a court order. Your choice."
We were in a standoff, a battle of wills at the gates of his fortress. His rage was a palpable thing, a physical force. I could see the violence simmering just beneath the surface. He took another step toward me, his hands clenched into fists.
Suddenly, another car screeched to a halt behind mine. The door flew open, and Ethan got out.
"Olivia!" he yelled, his face a mask of fear and fury.
My heart stopped. What was he doing here? I had been so careful to keep him out of this.
"Stay back, Ethan!" I shouted. "This has nothing to do with you."
He ignored me, his eyes locked on Michael Jr. "Get away from her," he said, his voice a low, dangerous growl I had never heard before.
I realized in that moment that Jake must have called him. My secret protector had arrived. And he had just walked into the line of fire.
Michael Jr. laughed, a short, ugly sound. "And who is this? Your boyfriend? You brought your boyfriend to a child custody hearing? You're even dumber than you look."
He turned his attention to Ethan, dismissing me as a threat. It was a fatal mistake. As he turned, I saw my opening. I lunged forward and grabbed the little girl, Lily, from Maria's arms. She was a small, trembling bundle, her face buried in the social worker's shoulder.
"Go!" I screamed at Maria. "Get out of here!"
I ran back to my car, clutching the child to my chest. I threw open the back door, shoving the terrified girl inside. As I did, I heard a sickening thud. I whirled around to see Ethan on the ground, and Michael Jr. standing over him, a triumphant, savage look on his face.
He had punched Ethan. The world went red. All my training, all my professionalism, all my carefully constructed control—it all vanished. There was only a primal, protective rage.
I ran at Michael Jr., screaming, my fists flailing. But before I could reach him, a series of black SUVs swarmed the gates, sirens blaring. The cavalry had arrived. Thompson, having heard the panic in Jake's voice, had sent in the troops.
Uniformed officers poured out of the cars, guns drawn. Michael Jr. was surrounded, his face a mask of disbelief. The standoff was over.
I rushed to Ethan's side. He was already sitting up, a hand to his jaw, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. "I'm okay," he grunted, his eyes finding mine. "Are you okay? Is the girl okay?"
"We're okay," I said, my voice trembling as I helped him to his feet. "We're okay."
I had the girl. I had the diary. I had my case. But as I stood there, my arms wrapped around a bruised and bleeding Ethan, I knew that the cost of this victory was a price I had never wanted to pay. I had tried to protect him by keeping him in the dark. But in the end, I had led the danger right to his door.