Chapter 26 Jess
Jess
I’m standing in the produce section of Whole Foods trying to decide if organic kale is worth the extra three dollars when my phone vibrates.
Marco.
My stomach does that annoying butterfly thing it’s been doing since the latest kiss that wasn’t supposed to happen.
“Hey,” I answer, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder so I can keep pretending I’m actually going to buy this kale.
“Where are you?” His voice has that tight edge that means something’s wrong.
I abandon the kale immediately. “Whole Foods. Why? What’s wrong?”
“Filepe spotted the blacked sedan again, near the school.” In the background I can hear doors opening and closing, voices approaching and receding. He’s moving while he talks. “Jag’s coming to get you now. You’ll do pickup together.”
My heart rate spikes. “Wait, what? It’s only one thirty. She doesn’t get out until three thirty.”
“I know.” There’s a pause. Then: “I’m pulling Ben early. Something feels off today. I can smell a press storm coming.”
“Okay.” I’m already moving toward the self checkout. “Where should I meet Jag?”
“Text him the address and he’ll be there in fifteen. Just get to the school.”
He hangs up.
I send Jag the text and make it through checkout in record time.
Jag’s already waiting outside. He’s leaning against the Range Rover looking like every action movie bodyguard ever, except this is my actual life now.
“That bad?” I ask, climbing into the back seat.
“Bad enough.” He pulls into traffic. “Filepe counted three vehicles circling the school. Known paparazzi plates.”
My phone buzzes. Filepe in the security group chat.
Adding two additional plates to watchlist. Silver Mazda returned. Front entrance compromised. Use staff door.
The drive takes exactly eleven minutes. Jag doesn’t mess around with traffic laws when Marco gives orders.
We pull up at the staff entrance. A security guard I don’t recognize nods us through. Filepe’s already inside, talking quietly with someone who looks like administration.
“Mrs. Chen’s bringing Ben to the nurse’s office,” Filepe says when we reach him. “Quieter exit.”
Except nothing about this is quiet.
Because when we round the corner to the nurse’s office, Ben is having a full meltdown in the hallway.
She’s on the floor. Knees pulled up. Frederick hugged tightly to her chest. Face red and tear-streaked. That frozen panic where she can’t even process what’s happening around her.
Oh no.
This is bad.
And standing about ten feet away is another parent with their phone out. Filming.
“Excuse me.” I move toward the parent, keeping my voice calm even though I want to scream. “Could you please not film? Her family has a strict privacy policy.”
The parent doesn’t lower the phone. “I’m just documenting what I’m seeing. This is a public space.”
“It’s actually not,” Filepe says from behind me. His voice is flat. Terrifying. “This is private school property. And you’re filming a minor in distress without parental consent.”
“I have a sick kid here, too.” The parent gestures down the hall where another child is sitting in the nurse’s office doorway looking miserable. “I’m allowed to be here.”
True. But irrelevant.
Jag moves like he’s going to take the phone. I grab his arm.
“Don’t.” I hiss. “That’ll make it worse.”
When you have to choose between protecting a kid’s privacy or committing assault.
His jaw tightens but he stops.
“Block her view,” I instruct.
Jag positions himself directly in front of her phone’s camera.
“Hey!” the parent says, and tries to step around him, but Jag keeps shifting his body to obstruct her view.
I hurry to Ben and crouch down a few feet away so I’m not crowding her.
“Hey sweetie.” My voice is gentle. “Are you okay? Is Frederick okay?”
She doesn’t respond. Just stares at the floor tiles like they hold the meaning of life.
“Ben.” I inch closer. “Can you do the squeeze with me? One, two, three?”
Her hand twitches. Just slightly.
I reach out slowly. Take her hand. Squeeze three times.
One. Two. Three.
She squeezes back. Barely there, but she’s trying.
“Now breathe. Smell the cocoa.”
She inhales. Shaky. Desperate.
“Blow the steam.”
Exhale.
We do it three more times. By the third round, her shoulders have dropped maybe half an inch and she’s actually looking at me now instead of the floor.
“Ready to go?” I ask quietly.
She nods. But says: “Why are we leaving early? Everyone was looking at me.”
“Oh sweetie... it’s not your fault. Your daddy needs you today. We all need you.”
“Why, what’s happening?” she presses.
I hesitate. Then: “Some bad people are trying to hurt your daddy. We’re going home to protect him.”
She perks up. “We’re going to protect daddy?”
“Yes, with Frederick’s help,” I tell her.
She nods. “Okay. For daddy, then.”
“For daddy,” I agree.
I help her stand. Keep one hand in hers, the other steadying her elbow.
Filepe’s already moving. He also positions himself between us and the filming parent, completely blocking the shot with his body so that Jag can take point.
I move to the middle with Ben while Filepe brings up the rear.
The protective triangle in action. Well, more like a protective line I suppose, but it works.
We make it down the hallway. Through the staff door. Into the parking area where another Range Rover is waiting with Luis behind the wheel and the engine already running.
There’s a sedan parked across the street. Camera lens visible in the window.
Jag moves toward it. Deliberately. Drawing their attention.
I get Ben into the car seat of the second Range Rover. Buckle her in.
“You were so brave,” I tell her. “So, so brave.”
She clutches Frederick and doesn’t say anything.
Luis pulls out while Jag’s still occupying the paparazzi’s attention. By the time they realize we’re moving, we’re already two blocks away.
My phone buzzes. Marco: Status?
I text back one-handed while keeping the other on Ben’s shoulder. In transit. She’s okay. Shaken but okay. She doesn’t like leaving early. Mini spiral.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. Any footage we have to worry about?
I hesitate. Then type: Parent filmed the mini spiral. Jag tried to take the phone but I stopped him. Didn’t want to make it worse. Couldn’t get the parent to delete the footage.
The dots stay there for approximately two thousand years. He’s mad. Definitely mad.
Finally: You did the right thing. I’ll have Elena handle it. Be home in twenty.
I exhale in relief, though I wonder if I should’ve let Jag snatch the parent’s phone.
We make it to Marco’s townhouse and I’ve never been more grateful to see a door in my entire life.
Luis pulls the Range Rover into the garage. The door closes behind us with a heavy mechanical thunk that sounds like safety and also possibly like we’re being sealed away into a very expensive tomb.
When you can’t tell if you’re being protected or trapped.
Ben’s still clutching Frederick. Still not talking. Her breathing is better but she’s got that thousand-yard stare that kids get after a meltdown when they’re completely emotionally spent.
I unbuckle her car seat. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get you inside. To help daddy, remember?”
She comes willingly but she’s deadweight and otherwise doesn’t say anything. I end up carrying her even though she’s almost too big for it now.
Rosa meets us at the mudroom entrance. Takes one look at Ben’s face and her expression shifts from mild curiosity to full crisis mode. “What happened?”
“Early pickup,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Press situation. She had a rough exit from school.”
Rosa doesn’t ask for details. Just immediately starts moving. “I’ll make her cocoa. The good kind.”
“Conchiglie al burro, too,” I add. “And apple slices.”
“Already on it,” Rosa replies.
I carry Ben into the kitchen and set her on the counter. She’s still got Frederick in a death grip.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “Let’s do the rules. You and me and Frederick. Ready?”
She nods. Just barely.
I take her hand. Squeeze three times.
She squeezes back. A little stronger than before, but not much.
“Now breathe. Smell the cocoa. Blow the steam.”
She follows along. Her shoulders drop maybe another half inch.
Rosa slides the actual cocoa across the counter. Always perfect timing with her.
Ben wraps both hands around the mug. Stares into it like it might have answers.
My phone buzzes. Marco again. Fifteen minutes out.
I don’t reply. Just pocket the phone and focus on Ben.
She’s eating apple slices now. Mechanical. Still not really present but at least she’s doing something.
Filepe appears in the doorway. “We need to talk protocol.”
Right. Because of course we do.
When ‘can everyone just calm down for a minute’ is not actually an option.
I glance at Rosa. “Can you—”
“I’ve got her,” Rosa says before I can finish. “Go.”
I follow Filepe to Marco’s home office. The security setup is already on the laptop screen. Camera feeds. Routes. A map with little red dots that I assume are the paparazzi vehicles.
Except now there are more dots. Like, significantly more.
“They’re multiplying,” I say. Very helpful observation, Jess. Gold star.
“Four vehicles now,” Filepe confirms. “Coordinated. They know Marco’s on his way back and they’re setting up for arrival photos.”
Luis joins us, appearing from wherever security people materialize from. “Perimeter’s compromised. Front entrance, side street, even the back alley. They’ve got coverage on every exit.”
My stomach drops. “So what do we do?”
“Shelter-in-place if it escalates.” Filepe pulls up another screen. Floor plans. “Primary suite. Hallway sweep, layered locks, blackout drapes, white noise machine.”
I blink at him. “You’re talking about hiding in Marco’s bedroom.”
“I’m talking about keeping a family safe from telephoto lenses and a media circus. Keeping a five-year-old safe...”
When ‘close proximity’ suddenly means ‘potentially trapped in your boss’s bedroom during a media siege’ and you’re trying very hard not to think about how that’s going to work.