I closed my eyes.
For the first time, Julian’s plan no longer looked flawless.
It looked documented.
Sixteen hours later, Julian’s flight reached Los Angeles.
He walked toward international arrivals carrying a sleeping Maya.
Evelyn was beside him, sunglasses on, moving through the terminal as though the trip had gone exactly as planned.
In Julian’s mind, it probably had.
He believed I was stranded thousands of miles away without identification or communication.
By the time I contacted an embassy, replaced my passport, found money, and booked another flight, he assumed days or weeks would pass.
That would give him time to create his own version of events.
He could claim I had stayed behind voluntarily.
He could tell people I abandoned Maya.
He could contact lawyers, move assets, and prepare whatever story best served him.
Then he reached the arrivals exit.
His confidence disappeared.
Waiting nearby were federal officers, local investigators, a child-services caseworker, legal representatives, and Martin Shaw in a charcoal suit.
