PART 3 — THE OTHER CHILDREN
Mason arrived at the police station twenty minutes later.
The entire drive felt unreal.
His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Every traffic light seemed too long.
Every mile seemed endless.
The detective's words repeated over and over inside his head.
"Owen may not have been the only child victim."
Nothing else mattered.
Not business.
Not money.
Not meetings.
Only Owen.
Only the truth.
When Mason entered the interview room, Detectives Harris and Bennett were already waiting.
A thick case file sat on the table.
Neither detective looked relaxed.
That frightened him more than anything.
Experienced investigators had seen everything.
If they looked disturbed, the situation was bad.
Very bad.
Harris motioned for him to sit.
"Mason, what we're about to discuss is still part of an active investigation."
Mason nodded.
"Just tell me."
The detective opened the file.
Inside were photographs.
Documents.
Reports.
Names.
And one picture that immediately caught Mason's attention.
A little boy.
Maybe seven years old.
Dark hair.
Brown eyes.
A shy smile.
"Who is that?"
The detective slid the photograph closer.
"His name is Noah Ramirez."
Mason stared at the picture.
"I don't understand."
Harris leaned forward.
"Three years ago, Noah lived in the same apartment complex where Trevor was living."
Mason felt his pulse quicken.
The detective continued.
"His mother reported unexplained bruising."
The room felt colder.
"Was Trevor involved?"
"We don't know."
The answer surprised him.
"What do you mean?"
Bennett spoke for the first time.
"The investigation went nowhere."
"Why?"
The detective's jaw tightened.
"Because Noah was too afraid to talk."
Silence.
Mason looked back at the photograph.
A little boy.
Another frightened child.
Another victim nobody could prove existed.
Harris continued.
"Two years later there was another report."
He placed a second photograph on the table.
A young girl.
Eight years old.
Freckles.
A bright smile.
The kind children have before someone teaches them fear.
"Emily Carter."
Mason swallowed hard.
"What happened?"
"Her school reported concerning behavior."
The detective flipped through several pages.
"Bruises."
The knot in Mason's stomach grew tighter.
"Nightmares."
Another page.
"Anxiety."
Another page.
"Fear of adult men."
Mason closed his eyes.
The pattern was becoming impossible to ignore.
"What happened to her?"
The detective sighed.
"Her family moved away before the investigation was completed."
Three children.
Three separate reports.
Three separate situations.
All connected to one man.
Trevor Lawson.
For years he had slipped through every crack.
Every loophole.
Every lack of evidence.
Until now.
Then Harris opened another folder.
This one thicker.
Newer.
More detailed.
"We found this yesterday."
The detective slid several photographs across the table.
Mason's blood ran cold.
It was Trevor's garage.
The search warrant had uncovered something hidden behind locked storage cabinets.
Boxes.
Folders.
Photographs.
Dozens of them.
Most were ordinary.
Children at parks.
Neighborhood events.
School functions.
But some were different.
Secretive.
Focused.
Disturbing.
Children photographed without their knowledge.
Children playing.
Children walking home.
Children sitting alone.
Mason felt sick.
"What the hell is this?"
The detectives exchanged a look.
"We're still investigating."
"But?"
Harris's expression darkened.
"But it suggests Owen wasn't randomly targeted."
The words landed like a hammer.
Targeted.
Not accidental.
Not isolated.
Targeted.
Mason stared at the photographs.
His hands shook.
"Why my son?"
The detective answered quietly.
"We think Trevor specifically chose vulnerable children."
The room went silent.
Vulnerable.
Children with divorced parents.
Children lacking stability.
Children easy to manipulate.
Easy to isolate.
Easy to control.
The realization made Mason physically ill.
Then came the question he dreaded.
"Where's Sabrina in all of this?"
The detectives became noticeably more cautious.
"We don't know."
That answer hurt almost as much as the truth.
Because Mason desperately wanted certainty.
He wanted Sabrina to be innocent.
Naive.
Manipulated.
Anything except complicit.
But certainty wasn't available.
Only evidence.
And evidence wasn't kind.
Harris opened another file.
Text messages.
Hundreds of them.
Messages recovered from Sabrina's phone.
The detective turned several pages toward him.
Mason began reading.
At first they seemed ordinary.
Arguments.
Money.
Daily life.
Then he reached one message.
And froze.
Sabrina: Owen has bruises again.
A response followed seconds later.
Trevor: He'll survive.
Another message.
Sabrina: My ex is starting to ask questions.
Trevor's reply came immediately.
Then tell the kid to keep his mouth shut.
Mason stopped reading.
His vision blurred.
The room seemed to tilt.
Not because Trevor was guilty.
He already knew that.
Because Sabrina had known.
Not everything.
Maybe not the full truth.
But enough.
Enough to ask questions.
Enough to worry.
Enough to recognize danger.
And she had done nothing.
Nothing.
The detectives allowed him several moments to recover.
Finally Harris spoke.
"There's something else."
Mason looked up.
The detective hesitated.
Then slid forward one final piece of evidence.
A small digital recorder.
Found inside Trevor's bedroom.
Hidden.
Locked away.
Mason frowned.
"What is it?"
The detective answered quietly.
"We listened to several recordings."
Something in his tone made Mason uneasy.
"What kind of recordings?"
The room fell silent.
Then Harris answered.
"Arguments."
A pause.
"Between Trevor and Sabrina."
Mason's stomach dropped.
The detective looked directly at him.
"On one recording, Sabrina tells Trevor to stop hurting Owen."
Hope flickered inside him.
Tiny.
Fragile.
Painful.
Then Harris continued.
"Trevor tells her if she leaves him, he'll expose certain financial crimes she helped him commit."
The hope died instantly.
Blackmail.
Fear.
Control.
None of it changed the outcome.
A child had still suffered.
And she had still stayed.
Mason leaned back in his chair.
Emotionally exhausted.
Angry.
Heartbroken.
Confused.
Then his phone rang.
The caller ID showed Owen's temporary counselor.
He immediately answered.
"Is everything okay?"
The counselor's voice sounded shaken.
"Mason..."
His heart stopped.
"What happened?"
A pause.
Then came words he never expected.
"Owen remembered something else."
The room froze.
Every detective looked up.
Mason's pulse exploded.
"What did he remember?"
The counselor took a slow breath.
Then spoke.
May you like
And what she said changed the entire investigation forever.
"Trevor wasn't working alone."
