Chapter 5 - The Man in the Trench Coat
The man moved with the measured pace of someone who belonged to courthouses and police basements. His hair was iron-gray, cropped close, and his face was marked by deep lines around a thin, grim mouth. He carried the manila folder pinned under his left arm.
“Evelyn Miller?” he asked, his voice low, completely unaffected by the lingering buzz of the crowd.
Evelyn looked up from her new slippers, her expression freezing into mask of pure dread. Her fingers dig into Toby’s shoulder so hard the boy winced. “Arthur?” she breathed, the color draining from her lips until they matched the dull gray of her hair.
“You shouldn't have put your face on television, Evelyn,” the man said quietly, opening the folder. “Especially not on a local affiliate linked to the state wire. It took my office exactly four minutes to flag your facial scan.”
Marcus stepped between them, puffed up on the residual adrenaline of his live-stream triumph. “Excuse me, buddy. We’re wrapping up an official event here. If you want an interview, you talk to my media manager.”
Arthur barely glanced at the shoe salesman. He flipped open a leather wallet, revealing a gold badge and a state investigator’s credential. “State Department of Children and Families, Special Investigations. Step aside, sir, or you’ll be cited for obstruction of a custody enforcement order.”
Marcus stepped back so fast he nearly tripped over his own sidewalk display tray. The gathering crowd, smelling conflict, began to raise their phones again, but Arthur turned his broad back to them, shielding his documents from the cameras.
“What custody order?” Toby shouted, stepping in front of his grandmother, his fists balled tight at his sides. “She’s my grandma! She takes care of me!”
Arthur looked down at the boy with eyes that weren't cruel, but entirely stripped of warmth. “Your name is Toby Vance. You were reported missing from the foster care transition registry in Clark County eighteen months ago. Evelyn Miller is not your legal guardian.”
The statement dropped like a concrete block onto the sidewalk. A hushed murmur rippled through the onlookers who were still recording.
“She is my grandmother!” Toby cried, his voice breaking into a high, panicked shriek. “Tell him, Grandma! Tell him!”
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Evelyn couldn't speak. Her chest heaved, air whistling past her lungs in shallow, panicked gasps. She clutched at the collar of her cardigan, her knees giving out beneath her as the twenty-five-dollar slippers scraped against the curb.
“She’s having an episode,” Arthur said, reaching for his radio. “Call an ambulance. And prepare the boy for immediate transit.”
