58

Sierra’s POV

Louis’s plan was crazy. Talk to Miranda Vale? On purpose? It was like seeing a wasp and sticking your face in its nest.

But he said we had to control the story. I guessed he was right. If she was going to talk about us anyway, maybe we should be the ones talking.

The next day, Louis’s assistant called Miranda’s show. They set up a meeting. Not for an interview. Just to talk.

We had to get ready. I put on a soft blue sweater and jeans. I wanted to look normal. Nice. Not like a scary rich lady.

“Remember,” Louis said in the car. “We’re a team. We’re parents. We’re just trying to protect our family.”

“What if she’s mean?” I asked.

“Then we stay calm. We kill her with kindness.”

The TV studio was big and shiny. A lady with a headset took us to a green room. There were crackers and water on a table.

Miranda Vale walked in. On TV, she looks bigger. In person, she was thin and had very sharp eyes. Like a bird.

“Mr. and Mrs. Crowe,” she said. She didn’t smile. “This is a surprise.”

“Thank you for seeing us,” Louis said. He sounded polite. Easy.

“I assume you’re here to threaten to sue my network,” Miranda said. She sat down and looked at us.

“No,” I said. The word just came out. She looked at me. “We’re not here to threaten. We’re here to ask you a question.”

Her eyebrows went up. “What question?”

“Why do you want to hurt my little girl?”

The room got quiet. Miranda’s face didn’t change, but her eyes flickered. Just a little.

“My reporting isn’t about hurting children,” she said.

“But it does,” I said. My voice shook, but I kept going. “Your pictures, your story… it’s about our family. Katie is part of that family. She’s seven. She just wants to feel safe. And you’re making it so she can’t.”

Louis put his hand over mine. A silent *good job*.

Miranda leaned back. “My story is about power. And how it’s abused. Your husband’s world has victims, Mrs. Crowe. I’m giving them a voice.”

“I know about victims,” I said. “I was one. When Victor Hale took my daughter, I was a victim. The people your story will stir up? The creepy guys who send letters? They’ll come for us. They’ll come for *her*. Are they the voices you want to give a microphone?”

For the first time, Miranda looked unsure. She tapped her fingers on the table.

Louis spoke then. His voice was low and serious. “You think you know my world, Ms. Vale. You see the money, the deals. You think it’s all corruption. But you’re using the same tactics as the people you hate. You hired a man to bug my home. To frighten my wife. To use my child’s trauma for content. How is that different?”

Miranda’s cheeks got a little pink. “I… That was investigative—”

“It was a violation,” I cut in. “You were in my daughter’s bedroom. With a microphone.”

She didn’t have an answer for that.

“Here’s what we propose,” Louis said. “You drop the special. You give us all the material Derek got for you. In return, we give you something better.”

“What could you possibly give me?” she asked, but she sounded curious.

“Access,” I said. “Real access. Come to the foundation. See the work we do with kids who’ve been through trauma. Talk to me. Not as a villain’s wife. As a mom who got scared and is now trying to help other moms feel safe.”

She stared at us. I could see her mind working. The angry reporter part of her wanted to fight. But the smart part… she knew our idea was better TV. A comeback story. A healing story. People love that.

“And what about the singing?” she asked suddenly.

Louis and I froze.

“What singing?” Louis asked, his voice careful.

“Derek said you asked about singing. I don’t know anything about that. My guess? You have more than one enemy. And that one sounds… unwell. If I were you, I’d be more worried about that than my show.”

My blood went cold. She was right. The singing was the real scary thing. Miranda was just a lady with a notebook. The singer was a ghost.

Miranda stood up. “I’ll think about your offer. I’ll call your people.”

She walked out.

In the car, I felt tired.

“She’ll do it,” Louis said. “She knows a redemption story sells more ads than an attack piece.”

“But she reminded us,” I whispered. “The singer is still out there. And we have no idea who it is.”

Louis’s phone rang. He answered. His face got tight.

“What? When?” He listened. “Okay. Keep her there. We’re coming now.”

He hung up.

“What happened?”

“That was Katie’s school. A man tried to pick her up for early dismissal. He said he was her uncle. He knew her name. He knew her teacher’s name. The school said no, and he left.”

The world spun. They were trying to take her. Again.

“The singer,” I said, my throat tight.

“Yeah,” Louis said. He told the driver to go faster. “Miranda was just noise. This is the real war. And it’s not over.”

We raced to the school. My heart was a drum in my ears.

The monster wasn’t on TV. The monster was at the school gates.

And he knew our daughter’s name.