Chapter 2 - THE SONG INSIDE THE WATCH
Christine stared at the frozen image of herself signing the document.
“That was not a custody order.”
Detective Brooks folded her arms.
“What were you told it was?”
“A family property statement.”
“Did you read it?”
“My father covered the upper page.”
“You signed something he would not allow you to read.”
“He said the papers protected Jake’s inheritance.”
I felt no need to raise my voice.
“From whom?”
Christine looked at me.
“From you.”
Jake made a frightened sound inside the bed.
I immediately returned to his side.
“This is not your fault,” I told him.
Christine began crying harder.
“Ethan, please.”
“Not in front of him.”
The words stopped her.
Dr. Keene asked us to continue outside while a nurse examined Jake.
He refused to release my hand.
Detective Brooks allowed the conversation to remain inside as long as everyone stayed calm.
Mara Quinn joined through an encrypted video call.
Her dark hair had turned silver near the temples, but her eyes remained as exact as I remembered.
“Cedar Glass was a covert financial recovery operation,” she explained. “The target network diverted federal reconstruction money through private development companies.”
Christine looked toward the screen.
“My father builds housing.”
“He billed the government for veteran housing that was never completed.”
“That is not possible.”
“He also moved money through Ashford Sound House.”
The name belonged to a historic recording studio near downtown Nashville. Franklin bought it when Christine was a child and used it for private events.
“My mother managed the charitable foundation there,” Christine said.
Mara looked at her.
“Your mother was our civilian source.”
Christine became still.
“No.”
“Her source name was Lark.”
I remembered Lark.
We never met face to face. She sent financial files through dead drops and used fragments of old gospel songs as authentication codes.
She disappeared the night Cedar Glass collapsed.
We were told she entered witness protection.
Three years later, Christine’s mother died in a car crash.
I had never known they were the same person.
“Marian was working with you?” Christine whispered.
“Yes,” Mara said.
“Did Ethan know her?”
“Only as Lark.”
Christine looked at me with horror.
“My father told me Ethan caused her accident.”
I stared at her.
“When?”
“The week after the funeral.”
“And you believed him?”
“He showed me a Blackbird report with your name.”
Mara answered.
“The report was forged.”
Christine looked toward the damaged smartwatch.
“My mother gave Jake that watch before she died.”
Mara’s expression changed.
“Why did you not mention that?”
“It was an ordinary birthday gift.”
“Marian never gave ordinary gifts.”
A technician connected the watch to a protected computer.
Most storage had been damaged, but one audio file remained intact.
The title was simple.
JAKE’S LULLABY.
Marian’s voice began singing an old Tennessee hymn.
Jake had listened to it every night for years.
The melody sounded ordinary until Mara asked the technician to isolate the background frequencies.
A sequence of tones appeared beneath the singing.
Numbers.
Coordinates.
An encryption phrase.
Marian had hidden the Cedar Glass access key inside her grandson’s lullaby.
Franklin did not need the physical watch.
He needed the original audio file before it uploaded anywhere else.
“Did you know?” I asked Christine.
“No.”
“Then why did your father ask about a key?”
Christine pressed both hands against the chair.
“Two weeks ago, I found a letter inside my mother’s cedar box.”
“What did it say?”
“That she had left proof in Jake’s favorite song.”
“And you told Franklin.”
“I confronted him.”
“You told the man she was investigating that evidence survived.”
“I did not know she was investigating him.”
“You believed I killed her.”
“Yes.”
The answer came through tears.
Pain did not make it less important.
“You lived beside me for eleven years while believing I murdered your mother.”
“I did not believe it every day.”
“That is not better.”
Christine looked toward Jake.
“I loved you.”
“You also prepared a custody order.”
“My father said he needed temporary authority to protect Jake if you became violent after learning about Mom.”
“Did you expect me to become violent?”
“I did not know who you were anymore.”
“You never asked.”
“I was afraid of the answer.”
Mara requested the document Christine signed.
Brooks obtained an electronic copy from Franklin’s attorney.
It authorized emergency guardianship, psychological evaluation, and immediate relocation of Jake to an Ashford family property.
The supporting statement claimed I suffered violent episodes connected to military service.
Christine’s signature appeared beneath a declaration saying she feared for her son.
“You wrote that?” I asked.
“My father’s attorney prepared it.”
“Did you sign knowingly?”
She looked down.
“Yes.”
The room became quiet.
She had been deceived about the evidence.
She had not been deceived about trying to remove our son from me.
Before I could continue, the hospital elevator opened.
Two men in medical transport uniforms entered the corridor carrying a stretcher.
They presented a court order requiring Jake’s immediate transfer to a private pediatric neurological clinic.
Detective Brooks examined it.
The order carried a Davidson County judge’s signature.
Christine’s emergency guardianship petition was attached.
The taller transporter looked toward Jake’s room.
“Mr. Ashford has arranged specialized care.”
“He is under police investigation,” Brooks said.
“The order predates the investigation.”
Mara’s voice came through my phone.
“Do not let them move Jake.”
The transporter reached inside his jacket.
I caught his wrist before the weapon cleared the fabric.
Brooks drew her firearm.
The second man ran toward the stairwell and was stopped by hospital security.
The first man struggled once.
I placed him against the wall and held him there.
No strike.
No broken bone.
Only control.
A syringe fell from his pocket.
Dr. Keene examined it.
“This could suppress respiration in a child.”
The transfer had never been intended to provide treatment.
They planned to move Jake, sedate him, and create another medical emergency away from witnesses.
The judge whose name appeared on the order had died six months earlier.
The signature was electronic.
The issuing account belonged to Ashford Family Services.
The same private foundation Marian once managed.
Brooks removed a phone from the transporter.
A recent message appeared on the screen.
IF THE BOY REMEMBERS THE SONG, BRING HIM ALIVE.
IF THE FATHER INTERFERES, CREATE A COMBAT INCIDENT.
Franklin wanted me violent because violence would validate Christine’s custody declaration.
I looked through the glass at Jake.
He was watching.
I released the transporter only when officers secured him.
My son needed to see that anger did not automatically choose my hands.
Mara spoke again.
“Ethan, the lullaby coordinates point to Ashford Sound House.”
Christine closed her eyes.
“My mother’s private recording room.”
“Franklin is moving something there tonight,” Mara said. “We intercepted a message mentioning the Cedar archive.”
Then another notification reached Brooks.
Franklin had reported Jake missing.
The complaint accused me of abducting him from the hospital.
The officer assigned to issue the alert was Christine’s uncle, Nashville Police Commander Paul Ashford.
The family was not running from the law.
May you like
It was attempting to make the law speak with its voice.
Continue to the next part: Franklin uses a forged abduction alert to turn every police officer in Nashville against Ethan while Blackbird races to recover Marian’s hidden archive.
