My son auctioned me off for $2 at his charity gala—“Who wants my boring mom?” he cracked into the microphone, and three hundred people laughed like it was part of the program. I sat under hot stage lights in a blue gown I didn’t choose, smiling the way mothers do when they’re trying not to break.

I nodded. The room felt smaller now. The fancy gala felt far away now. I was not a mother at a charity event.

I was a witness in something dangerous.

Minutes passed. Each second felt like a long minute.

Then Agent Reed returned, his face tight. “Mrs. Miller,” he said, “you just got threatening texts.”

I swallowed. “Yes.”

He held out his hand. “May I see your phone?”

The female agent handed it to him.

Agent Reed read the messages. His eyes turned cold. “They are trying to move you,” he said quietly. “They want you out of our protection.”

I tried to breathe. “Who is they?” I asked.

He looked at me. “Victor Kain’s people,” he said. “Or Jason’s people. Sometimes those are the same thing.”

My stomach twisted. “Jason would never threaten me,” I said automatically.

Then I remembered the way he looked at me tonight. The way he pointed. The way he blamed.

And my voice dropped.

“Would he?”

Agent Reed did not answer that right away. Instead, he said, “We just questioned the hotel worker. He is not a hotel worker. He is a runner. He was supposed to watch you, and if you left the room, he was supposed to follow you.”

My hands went cold. “Follow me where?”

Agent Reed’s voice was steady but hard. “To a car,” he said, “to someone waiting outside.”

I felt like I could not breathe.

Agent Reed pulled the chair across from me and sat down again. “Listen carefully,” he said. “Jason and Ashley are being separated right now. We are questioning them, but we need something from you.”

“What?” I asked.

“We need the documents you signed,” he said. “The originals, if possible. If you have them at home, we need them before they disappear.”

I frowned. “At home,” I repeated. “I might have them in a drawer.”

Agent Reed nodded. “Jason likely has copies too,” he said. “And if he knows we are looking, he may send someone to your house tonight.”

My heart thudded. “To my house?”

“Yes,” he said. “That is why we cannot wait. We will send officers to secure your home, but we also need you to tell us where you keep your important papers.”

I tried to think. I had a wooden desk in my bedroom, a drawer with tax forms, my husband’s old letters, and the folder Ashley gave me.

“The folder,” I said. “It is in my bedroom desk drawer, in a blue file folder.”

Agent Reed wrote it down. “Good,” he said.

He paused, then asked, “Mrs. Miller, did Jason ever mention a storage unit, a warehouse, or a second office?”

I hesitated.

“There was one thing,” I said. “He said the charity had a small office behind the community center. He said he stored supplies there, but I never saw it.”