My Son Named His Attackers—Then One Call Reopened My Buried Past

The phone rang three times before Arthur Corbett answered.

"Is it done?" Arthur’s voice was impatient, laced with arrogant authority.

Miller looked at me, his eyes wide with terror. I nodded once.

"Yes, Mr. Corbett," Miller said, his voice trembling slightly before he managed to steady it. "We have him. He didn't put up a fight. We're taking him to the warehouse on 4th Street now."

"Good," Arthur said. "I'm sending Brian and Scott with a few of our guys. Make sure he understands that he's signing over full custody of the kid, and then... well, make sure he doesn't cause any more trouble."

"Understood, sir," Miller said.

The line went dead.

I took the phone from Miller’s hand and tossed it onto the bedside table. "Thank you for your cooperation."

"You won't get away with this," Harris spat. "The Corbetts have this town locked down."

"They had it locked down," I corrected him. "Marcus, take them to the holding area."

Marcus stepped into the room, wearing a doctor’s lab coat. He nodded, and with the help of Vance and Jax, they quietly escorted the two detectives out of the hospital through the service elevator, leaving the room secure.

I sat back down beside Jake. He was stirring, his eyes fluttering open.

"Dad?" he whispered.

"I’m right here, buddy," I said, smiling warmly.

"Are the bad men gone?"

"They're going away for a very long time, Jake," I said, kissing his forehead. "I have to go finish some work, but my friends are going to keep you safe. I’ll be back soon."

"I love you, Dad."