Please look under my coat before she sees you!
Kowalski’s discovery was a jolt of hope. Finally, a way to free Maya without harming her. He agreed to help, but he was cautious, insisting we work from my garage, away from prying eyes. He was already drafting the encryption bypass module, muttering about ‘backdoor protocols’ and ‘proprietary frequency hops.’
But Evelyn’s team was always a step ahead, always faster.
We were barely twenty-four hours into Kowalski’s work when my phone buzzed with an unknown number. I ignored it. Then another buzz. And another.
A frantic voicemail from Rachel Cross finally broke through. “Lucas, where are you? They’ve moved on Maya!”
My blood ran cold.
I rushed back to my house, heart pounding. As I pulled up, two sheriff’s deputies were already there, waiting. Not city police, but county. They looked grim.
“Mr. Lucas Hollister?” one of them asked, stepping forward. He held a legal document in his hand.
I nodded, bracing myself.
“We have an emergency ex-parte child welfare petition,” he stated, his voice flat. “Issued by County Magistrate Judge Thompson. Lieutenant Governor Albright-Hollister has been granted temporary custody of Maya Hollister.”
“What?” I exclaimed, disbelief warring with a rising tide of fury. “You can’t do that! Where is she?”
“She was removed from Oakhaven Preparatory Academy an hour ago,” the second deputy explained, looking sympathetic but unyielding. “She’s been placed in a private, undisclosed residence.”
“On what grounds?” I demanded, my voice raw. “She’s my sister!”
The first deputy pointed to the document. “You’ve been formally named as an unfit relative. The petition cites severe grief-induced paranoia following your wife’s tragic passing, along with ongoing attempts to interfere with the child’s medical treatment and safety.”
Evelyn was painting me as unstable, dangerous. Using my grief, my isolation, against me.
“This is a lie!” I shouted, the words feeling futile. “She’s got a device clamped around her neck! A tracking collar!”
The deputy’s eyes hardened. “Mr. Hollister, we are here to enforce a court order. Any further disruption, or any attempt to locate or contact Maya Hollister, will be considered a violation of this order. We’ve also been instructed to serve you with this.”
He handed me another stack of papers. A gag order. Explicitly forbidding me from discussing Maya’s welfare, Evelyn’s custody, or anything related to the ongoing civil suit with anyone. News outlets. Public forums. Even social media.
This wasn’t just about controlling Maya. This was about controlling the narrative, about silencing me completely.
Kowalski, who had emerged from my garage, his face etched with concern, placed a hand on my shoulder. “Lucas, don’t say anything more.”
The deputies lingered, their presence a silent warning. There was nothing I could do. They had taken Maya. They had stripped me of my voice.
I felt a cold, crushing despair. Evelyn wasn’t just playing legal games; she was using the very systems of justice against me, turning the law into her personal weapon. Maya was gone, swallowed by Evelyn’s political machinations, and I was left with nothing but paper and impotent rage.
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