The man studied my face calmly, as if he had been expecting this moment.
Then he leaned closer and whispered:
“Your daughter is alive.”
My knees nearly gave out.
“What?” I whispered.
“I know where she is. You need to come with me.”
He reached for my wrist, but alarms went off in my head. I pulled away.
“Not until you tell me how you know my daughter.”
“I’ve seen her.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere you won’t find on your own.”
I studied him, unsure whether I was facing a liar—or the first real lead in three years.
Finally I said, “Okay. Take me to her.”
He rubbed his jaw.
“Follow me.”
Hope surged inside my chest as I grabbed my bags and followed him down the street.
Then he added:
“But it won’t be free.”
Hope crashed instantly.
“You want money? How much?”
He named a number that twisted my stomach.
“I don’t have that kind of money on me.”
He stopped walking.
“Then we’re done.”
Panic rushed through me.
“Wait! I can get it.”
He glanced back.
“When?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll withdraw it from the bank.”
He considered this.
“Meet me here at the store at 2 p.m.,” I said.
After a moment he nodded.
“Don’t be late.”
I wrote my phone number on a receipt and handed it to him.
“If something changes, call me.”
He slipped it into his pocket.
“Bring the money.”
Then he walked away, leaving me shaking in the parking lot.
