REBECCA #2
After I fought to keep us together.
After I worked two jobs so she wouldn't have to go back into the system.
After every promise I ever made her.
Some monster looked at my sister. Looked at Rachel. And assigned her a price tag. A sob tears out of me before I can stop it. My chest feels like it's splitting open. She was terrified. Alone. Crying. And I wasn't there.
I wasn't there.
God.
What if she thought I'd stopped looking? What if she thought I'd given up? What if they told her nobody was coming? The thought shatters something inside me.
I press both hands against my mouth. Trying to hold myself together.
Trying not to fall apart in front of everyone.
But my heart is breaking all over again.
Not for the seventeen-year-old girl in the photograph.
For the twelve-year-old who survived. For the fifteen-year-old who trusted me.
For the sister who looked at me after our entire world ended and believed me when I said I'd keep her safe.
And all I can think is, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Rachel.
SUBJECT ID: RM-1734
Name: Rachel Morgan
Age: 17
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Status: Cleared for Transfer
Assessment: Premium Inventory
Date Processed: June 14
Sale Amount: $5,000
Purchaser: REDACTED
Transfer Status: Completed
Destination: REDACTED
My knees give out. I can feel myself sinking. Suddenly Alessio is there, one arm around my waist, steadying me. Keeping me upright.
"Easy, tesoro."
I can't look at him. If I do, I'll completely lose it. His hand slides into my hair. Gently. So gently. Nothing like the violent man who snapped a cartel soldier's arm without blinking.
"Beccs."
I force myself to lift my head. His eyes find mine immediately. Glacier blue. Steady. Certain.
"I failed her." The words break apart coming out. "I promised I'd protect her."
He reaches for me. "You were twenty."
I shake my head. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters."
"It doesn't."
I point at the screen. At Rachel. At the tears on her face.
"She needed me." My voice cracks again. "And I wasn't there."
Something dangerous flashes across Alessio's face. Not anger at me. At himself. At the traffickers. At the world. At everything. "You listen to me."
His voice drops. "You didn't put her in that chair."
I swallow hard.
"You didn't sell her."
My chest aches.
"You didn't hurt her."
His hand tightens on my waist.
"You didn't fail her."
Tears spill faster. Because I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him. But all I can see is Rachel's face. The fear. The desperation. The way she looks like a frightened little girl pretending to be brave.
Valentina clears her throat. "I found another file."
She clicks. Another window appears. Then another.
And another. Transfer records. Invoices.
Shipping manifests. Hundreds of names. Hundreds.
Women. Girls. Sold. Transferred. Moved. Catalogued.
The room feels colder suddenly. Because Rachel wasn't special to them.
She wasn't unique. She wasn't even memorable.
She was one line in a spreadsheet. One transaction among hundreds.
One life among thousands. I think that's what finally does it.
Not Rachel. Not the photo. Not the price. The realization that somewhere, somebody drank a cup of coffee while deciding what my sister was worth.
Valentina's voice softens. "I haven't found the buyer." My stomach sinks. "But." Her fingers move rapidly. Code streams across the monitors. Files open. Close. Reappear. Then she points. "There."
I lean forward, and I notice that Alessio, Rossi, and most of the men in the room do the same. I squint at the screen. At first, I don't understand what I'm looking at. A log. A database entry. More numbers. More dates. More meaningless computer gibberish.
Then Valentina zooms in. A line appears beneath Rachel's transfer record. Highlighted in red.
TRANSFER COMPLETED
SUBJECT CLOSED
A second entry sits beneath it. Three months later.
FILE ACCESSED
My pulse stutters. "What does that mean?"
Valentina adjusts her glasses. "It means somebody opened her file."
The room goes still. "Who?"
"I don't know yet."
Her fingers begin flying again. She pulls up another record. Then another. Then another. More. Every file ends the same way. Transfer completed.
Subject closed.
Nothing else. No activity. No searches. No updates. No access. Dead ends. Rachel's file is different.
Valentina points at the screen. "Someone specifically went looking for her."
My heart begins hammering. "When?"
Valentina reads the date. "Three months after she was sold."
Three months. I grip the edge of the desk. Hard. Three months after Rachel was sold. Someone else was looking too.
Valentina zooms in further. "There."
A location code appears. Small. Buried. Almost invisible. Not a name. Not an address. A routing marker. A city. Phoenix, Arizona. My breath catches.
"What does that mean?"
Valentina shrugs. "It means Rachel passed through Phoenix."
Disappointment crashes into me.
That's it? A city? One city in an entire country?
Valentina smiles. The expression is slightly terrifying. "I also found this."
Another line appears.
ACCOUNT STATUS: DECEASED
I stare. My vision tunnels. No. No. No.
Valentina immediately shakes her head. "Don't panic."
Alessio's hand tightens on my shoulder. "Val."
"I'm serious."
She points at the code. "This wasn't entered by the trafficking network."
My breath catches. "What?"
Her fingers fly across the keyboard. "This record was altered."
The room goes silent. Valentina enlarges a string of code I don't understand. "Whoever entered this used administrator-level access."
"Meaning?" Alessio asks.
"Meaning somebody wanted Rachel Morgan to disappear."
A chill crawls down my spine. Valentina opens another window. Then another. Comparing records. Dates. User IDs. Time stamps. Finally she sits back. "This is the only file in the entire database marked deceased without supporting documentation. And a signature that only appears once."
I stare at the screen. "What does that mean?"
Valentina shrugs. "It means one of two things."
I hate the sound of that. "Either somebody made a mistake."
Nobody in the room looks convinced.
"Or..." she taps the highlighted line, "somebody wanted anyone looking for Rachel Morgan to stop looking."
Hope flickers. It's tiny and fragile. You'd think that after all these years, I'd be used to this kind of roller coaster, but I'm not. Alessio's arm tightens around me.
"You think she's alive."
Valentina adjusts her glasses. "I think somebody went through a lot of trouble to make sure nobody would ever look for her again."
My heart begins pounding. "Why?"
For the first time, Valentina doesn't have an answer. "I don't know."
Her gaze shifts back to the monitor. "But dead people don't usually require this much paperwork."