Chapter 1
My husband, Charles Prescott was Aronsburg's top negotiation expert. He saved hostages from countless criminals.
Yet when our daughter was kidnapped, he failed the negotiation, and the kidnapper killed her.
I collapsed on the floor, clutching my daughter's blood-stained doll. He, however, organized his negotiation files and prepared to leave.
"Ivanna," he said calmly, "the kidnappers didn't follow logic. Their demands kept changing. Anyone would have failed. I really did everything I could."
But late that night, his assistant, Brielle Whitlock, posted on social media: [My first time joining a negotiation and I said the wrong thing. I angered the kidnappers and almost got the hostage killed. I was so scared.
[Luckily, my mentor helped me and comforted me, saying it was okay.
[He said he would teach me all his skills from now on. Is this special treatment just for me? My heart is fluttering.]
On the man's wrist was a woven bracelet. It was the same one my daughter made and gave it to Charles for his birthday.
My hands shook as I typed under that post: [No need to guess. I, his wife, will answer for him. Yes. It's special treatment just for you.]
The phone rang the next second.
Charles' voice, usually calm, sounded angry.
He said, "It was just a joke by Brielle. Did you really need to blow it up? You'll ruin her future.
"You're emotionally unstable right now. Don't talk nonsense. Delete the comment immediately, or we'll—"
I hung up the phone.
The people who caused my daughter's death had no right to smile and enjoy their lives.
*****
An hour later, my phone blew up with over twenty missed calls from Charles. I didn't pick up a single one.
The notification chimes kept ringing as the texts rolled in.
He had sent: [If you're going to pin this all on Brielle, then we're done. I'll have the divorce papers sent to the house. Sign them and that's it.]
I stared at the screen for a moment, then replied: [Okay.]
After that, Charles went radio silent. No more calls, no more texts.
I gathered up all the group photos from Brielle's feed, plus the audio clip of her screwing up during the negotiation and provoking the kidnappers, and sent them to him in one go.
I typed: [Charles, our daughter is dead. Does Brielle really have no responsibility at all?]
The message bounced back. He'd blocked me on WhatsApp.
When I refreshed my feed, Brielle's posts had changed. She'd deleted everything from before, leaving only one new update.
She typed: [I was so nervous on the mission with Mr. Prescott today that I said the wrong thing and almost messed everything up. Good thing he was quick to smooth things over.
[The party tonight was just Mr. Prescott checking in on me, worried I might get PTSD. He kept helping me calm down, and I guess that made everyone misunderstand. I'm really sorry for the confusion.]
The photo she posted showed her with her head bowed, making the sign of the cross. She looked all innocent and repentant.
Charles left a comment under the post. [Don't be afraid. If you mess up, just fix it. I'm here to guide you.]
Right away, a flood of comforting comments rolled in.
[It's totally normal for newbies to mess up. Mr. Prescott is way too protective of his team.]
[Some people are way too sensitive. Sure, losing a kid is sad, but you can't go blaming others for it.]
[Brielle really lucked out, getting a boss like that.]
I gave a bitter smile, mentally ticking off each of their names one by one.
I'd pulled every string I could to get Charles onto the elite negotiation team, all so he could finally show what he was worth.
I poured all my connections and resources into helping him build his track record and make a name for himself.
Now he was a legend in the business, and everyone around him was basking in his glory. Even that rookie assistant of his thought she could boss me around now.
They probably think that without Charles, I would be a nobody, that I'd have to suck it up and take whatever they throw at me.
Brielle dropped a shy emoji under every single comment, but when it came to Charles, she sent him a starstruck gif with big sparkling eyes.
I was sorting through my daughter's old photos and toys when someone knocked on the door.
It was one of Charles's colleagues, standing there with an envelope and a small box in his hands.
"Mr. Prescott asked me to bring these over," he said, looking uncomfortable. "These are the divorce papers.
"Also, Brielle said you might not be feeling your best lately, so she wanted you to have this to help settle your nerves.
"The box says 'Calming Brain Tonic.' But honestly, you seem pretty composed to me."
I handed the box back to him. "Tell her I'm calm as ever."
Once the door was shut, I opened the envelope, took out the divorce papers, and signed my name on the signature line.
My phone buzzed a few times. It was a message from the negotiation team leader.
He typed: [Ivanna, can you reconsider? The others are fine, but how could you reassign Charles and Brielle to the border conflict zone?
[I know you're still distraught over your daughter's accident, and I understand you're upset with Charles. But don't be reckless at work.
[This isn't a small matter. If you do this, you're not just sidelining two top negotiators. So many hostages are counting on them for a chance at rescue.]