15. Chapter Fifteen #2
Both women hesitated, Marjorie clearly uneasy, but after Susan's prompting gathered her papers and left the conference room. I remained standing, wary of this sudden change.
"My office would be more comfortable," Kline suggested, gesturing toward the door. "And more private."
Every instinct screamed that this was a trap, but I needed information about Zoe, and I knew the guys were listening.
I nodded curtly and followed him down the hallway to his corner office with its impressive view of the city.
He closed the door behind us, then moved to his desk, indicating I should take one of the chairs opposite.
"Emily," he began, his voice unexpectedly gentle, "I think there's been a serious misunderstanding between us."
I kept my expression neutral. "Is that what you call falsifying emails to discredit me?"
He sighed heavily, appearing genuinely troubled. "Those emails concerned me as well. They didn't sound like you."
This wasn't what I'd expected. I watched him carefully, looking for the lie. "Then why am I being suspended?"
"Protocol," he said simply. "When accusations of this nature arise, we have to follow procedure." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "But off the record, I've always respected your work, Emily. Your dedication to these children is admirable."
"Then why block my concerns about missing children?" I challenged.
Kline's expression shifted subtly. "What exactly do you think is happening to these children, Emily?"
There it was—the real reason for this private conversation. He wasn't offering support; he was fishing for information.
"I think they deserve better follow-up than they're getting," I replied carefully. "When foster children disappear, we should be doing everything possible to find them."
"Of course," he agreed smoothly. "But teenagers run away all the time. We have limited resources."
"Some of these children weren't runners," I said. "Marisol Martinez called me the night before she disappeared, terrified. By morning, she was gone, and all documentation was magically completed."
A flicker of something—concern? Alarm?—crossed his face. "You received a call from Marisol? Did you document this?"
"I reported it," I said. "The case was immediately transferred to Susan."
Kline studied me for a long moment. "What exactly do you have, Emily?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"I think you do." He leaned back in his chair. "You've been investigating something. Gathering information. I'm simply curious what conclusions you've drawn."
I maintained eye contact, refusing to be intimidated. "Only that certain foster families receive preferential treatment, their applications are fast-tracked, and when concerns arise about children in their care, those concerns are quickly dismissed."
"I see." Kline's expression remained neutral, but his fingers tapped rhythmically on his desk—a tell I'd noticed in previous meetings when he was agitated. "And have you shared these... concerns with anyone outside the department?"
The question confirmed what I already suspected. He wasn't worried about the children; he was worried about exposure.
"Should I have?" I countered, watching his reaction carefully.
His smile didn't reach his eyes. "That would be highly inappropriate, as you well know. Confidentiality is paramount in our work."
"So is the safety of our children," I replied evenly.
Kline's facade of friendly concern began to crack. "Let me be clear, Emily. If you've removed confidential files or shared sensitive information with unauthorized parties, that's grounds for immediate termination and possible legal action."
"I haven't removed anything," I said, splitting hairs. The files had been copies, not originals.
He studied me, clearly not believing me. "You're a dedicated social worker, Emily. I've always admired that about you. But sometimes dedication can become... obsession. Particularly after trauma."
"Are you suggesting I'm imagining things because of my abduction?" I kept my voice steady despite the fury building inside me.
"I'm suggesting that you've been through a terrible ordeal, and it might be affecting your judgment.
" His tone was patronizing, the concern in his eyes entirely manufactured.
"Perhaps a longer leave of absence would be beneficial. With proper counseling, of course. Perhaps you’d allow me to take you home? It seems the least I can do."
And then I realized I was in an office with no witnesses, and I knew what I had to do.
"You know, I was just thinking my father always wanted a boy, but he got two daughters. If he’d had a son he would have named him Barnaby after my grandfather." I said.
Kline's brow furrowed in confusion. "Excuse me?"
"Nothing," I replied, standing abruptly. "I think we're done here."
His expression hardened. "Emily, be reasonable. Your career is at stake. Whatever you think you know—"
The door burst open, and Gideon strode in wearing a security uniform, his expression professionally concerned.
"Mr. Kline, there's an emergency situation requiring immediate evacuation of this floor," he announced. "Please come with me now, sir."
Kline stood, irritation flashing across his face. "What kind of emergency?"
"Gas leak in the maintenance room," Gideon replied smoothly. "The building engineers are concerned about potential explosion risk."
"This is ridiculous," Kline muttered, but he grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. "We'll continue this discussion later, Emily."
I didn’t reply, moving to follow Gideon out the door.
In the hallway, staff were being directed toward the emergency stairwells by other "security personnel" I recognized as members of Dion's team. Kline joined them, but Gideon guided me to a stairwell.
"This way, sweetheart," he said quietly.
Once we were safely in the stairwell with the door closed behind us, Gideon's professional mask slipped slightly.
"Good timing with the code word," he said, his voice low as we descended the stairs. "Kline was definitely fishing for information, and none of us liked his offer to take you home."
“He wanted to know what I had," I confirmed, my heart still racing from the encounter, "and I wasn’t sure if I’d have been safe getting into his car."
Gideon's expression darkened. "Like hell was he taking you anywhere." He spoke into his earpiece. "Package secured. Moving to extraction point alpha."
We emerged from the building through a side exit I'd never noticed before. Dion's SUV was already waiting, engine running. I slid into the passenger seat, relief flooding through me as the door closed. Gideon patted the door and turned away.
"You did beautifully," Dion said immediately, pulling away from the curb. "We heard everything."
"The emails were fake," I said, my professional composure finally cracking. "They forged communications to make me look unstable."
"We know. Eric's trying to trace the IP address." Dion's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "They're getting desperate."
"What about Zoe?" I asked the question that had been burning in my chest throughout the entire meeting.
"Still at the Bennett house, but there's increased activity. Three vehicles arrived this morning, including a van with tinted windows." Dion glanced at me. "We think they're accelerating their timeline."
My stomach dropped. "Because of me. Because they know I'm onto them."
"Because you're a threat to their operation," Dion corrected. "Which means you're doing exactly what you should be doing."
We drove in tense silence for several minutes before Dion spoke again. "There's something else. Eric found financial connections between Oak Development and several high-profile individuals, including some in your mother's social circle."
I stared at him in shock. "My mother is involved?"
"Not directly, as far as we can tell. But some of the people funding this operation move in the same circles. The charity galas, the country club—it's all connected."
The implications hit me like a physical blow.
My parents' reaction to my "instability," my mother's threat about reputation and scandal—they weren't just protecting their social standing.
They were protecting the people who funded their lifestyle.
I suspected my father, but I'd still believed in Mom.
"He knew," I whispered. "There’s a chance when my mother came to see me, when she called my father, that she didn’t know, but I doubt my father was ignorant."
Dion reached over and took my hand. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I know how much that must hurt."
I squeezed his fingers, drawing strength from his touch. "It explains why Susan felt comfortable discussing me. They're all part of the same network."
"Which is why we need to move quickly," Dion said. "Before they can cover their tracks or disappear more children."