I frowned, thinking of Emily sleeping peacefully in what I hoped would be her playroom. "We need to know what we'redealing with. Did Eric make any progress on Susan or Richard's communications?"
"Not yet," Walker replied. "But he did find something interesting about those foster families Emily mentioned. Three of them received substantial payments from shell companies that trace back to Oak Developments. I doubt anyone but Eric could have found them, and only because we know about Emily's dad."
"Payoffs," I muttered. "Probably for handing over the kids."
"Or for keeping quiet about what happens to them," Walker suggested grimly.
I gestured to the lockbox. "Let's see what Emily's gathered."
"Shouldn't we wait for her?" Walker asked.
"She's resting," I said, my tone making it clear the subject wasn't open for discussion. Walker's brow furrowed, but he nodded, understanding the protective note in my voice.
"We need the combination," I said, examining the lockbox, although breaking it would be simple.
"Try her mom's birthday." Walker pulled out his phone. "Eric sent it over." He checked the file and huffed when it didn't work.
"Try the date she started at Furbabies," I suggested, and Walker smiled for the first time in what seemed like a long time when it worked. Inside there were several small folders, neatly labeled and organized, along with a small USB drive and a notebook with a floral cover.
"She's thorough," Walker commented as I spread the contents out on the kitchen counter.
"She's protecting children," I replied, opening the first folder. "Of course she's thorough."
The folders contained detailed notes on each of the suspected foster families, including dates of child placements, observations from home visits, and discrepancies in officialreports. Emily had highlighted inconsistencies and added her own notes in neat, precise handwriting.
"Jesus," Walker muttered, flipping through one of the files. "She's documented everything. Dates when children disappeared, the excuses given, even photos of the homes before and after."
I picked up the notebook, finding it filled with timeline charts with connecting lines between different foster homes, along with names of officials who had dismissed her concerns. In the margins were personal observations, things that wouldn't be appropriate for official files but that had clearly troubled her.
"Marisol thought someone watched her change clothes through a crack in door when it wouldn't close properly," one note read. "Reported to Susan—said she would handle it. No follow-up."
I felt my jaw tighten as I read through more of her notes. Each entry was a small horror story, carefully documented with dates, times, and observations. Emily hadn't just stumbled onto this trafficking ring—she'd meticulously built a case against it, piece by sickening piece.
"She put herself at incredible risk collecting all this," Walker said quietly, scanning through another folder. "If Rice or any of his people knew what she had..."
"They'd have done worse than try to kidnap her," I finished grimly. "They'd have made her disappear entirely."
Walker nodded, his expression darkening. "Like my grandmother should have done to my grandfather."
I looked up, surprised. Walker never talked about his family, and I knew better than to push. But something in his voice—a raw pain I recognized all too well—made me set down the file.
"Your grandfather?" I prompted gently.
Walker's hands stilled on the papers. "Gran died pretending I didn't know," he said, his voice hollow. "But I figured it outwhen I was about twelve. The bruises she tried to hide. The way she flinched when anyone raised their voice. The 'accidents' that always seemed to happen when he was drunk."
"I'm sorry," I said quietly.
He shook his head. "She stayed with him for forty-seven years. Forty-seven years of hell because she thought it was her duty. Because 'what would people say?' if she left him." Walker's jaw clenched. "When I joined the military, I begged her to come live with me in my place. She refused. Said she couldn't leave him alone, that he needed her."
"That's why you've been checking on her so frequently these past months," I realized. Walker's mysterious absences suddenly made sense.
He nodded, his fingers tracing the edge of one of Emily's folders. "She finally agreed to leave him six months ago. I got her set up in an apartment near me because she refused to move in here. She was starting to... I don't know, come alive again. Make friends. Start hobbies." His voice caught. "Then she had the stroke."
I reached out, gripping his shoulder. "I'm sorry we weren't there for the funeral."
"I didn't tell anyone," he admitted. "Couldn't face... people. Questions." He ran a hand over his face. "But being here, seeing what this woman has documented—children being handed over to predators by the very system meant to protect them—it reminds me I get to make up for it in some way."
"Emily's the same way," I said quietly. "She's fighting for these kids the way you wished someone had fought for your grandmother."
