The iron gates stand wide open, and that's the first wrong thing Rowan notices.
No security. No cameras blinking red. Just silence and an empty driveway leading to a mansion that looks like it swallowed every dream Rockford Heights ever had.
He shifts Mira higher on his hip. She's four years old and weighs almost nothing. Her fingers grip his collar, and her breath comes quick and shallow against his neck. She hasn't eaten since yesterday morning. Neither has he.
"Daddy," she whispers. "I'm hungry."
"I know, baby. I know."
The job listing said immediate hire. Cash payment. Room for family. No questions asked. Rowan had called three times before someone finally answered. A woman's voice, clipped and cold. "Be here Thursday morning. Eight sharp."
He checks his watch. 7:58.
A man appears at the top of the driveway, dressed in a tailored suit that probably costs more than Rowan's truck used to. The man's eyes sweep over Rowan's worn jeans, his dirt-stained jacket, the child clinging to him like a lifeline.
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