When Manny reached the stairwell landing, Vale was gone, but a chilling phrase lingered on the wall in marker: “She comes home with me, or nobody sees her again.” The words tightened something inside Manny, crystallizing into a hard, cold resolve. Vale wasn’t bluffing, and Manny had run out of time. The bureaucratic patience he had been forced to exercise was now a lethal luxury.
He realized he needed proof—undeniable evidence that would end Vale’s access to any child permanently. Without it, procedures and paperwork would keep looping endlessly, a cycle that would only end in tragedy. He needed something concrete enough to crush Vale’s lies and expose everything hidden beneath that controlled exterior. It had to be irrefutable. Manny began to formulate a plan, one that would require him to step outside the usual boundaries and use Vale’s own arrogance against him. The risk was immense, but the alternative—leaving the girl as a sitting target—was unthinkable.
He would have to draw Vale out, to make him commit to an action that would trap himself, all while keeping the girl shrouded in a protection that went far beyond a guarded door. The dog, alert at his feet, seemed to understand the shift, its own vigilance mirroring Manny’s newfound determination. The waiting was over; now, they would hunt the hunter. This meant abandoning the cycle of doubt and dead ends that would otherwise loop endlessly. He couldn’t rely on instinct or suspicion anymore; he needed something solid, something concrete enough to crush Vale’s lies and expose everything hidden beneath that controlled, manipulative exterior.
He returned to Vale’s backyard under the deep cover of night, scanning the fire-scarred ground with a flashlight beam held low. Near the ashes of the shed, a patch of soil looked freshly disturbed, darker and looser than the surrounding dirt. Kneeling, he brushed aside a layer of dead leaves and charred debris. His pulse quickened. Someone had buried something here recently—something Vale had probably not had the time or opportunity to destroy completely.
Manny dug with his bare hands, the mud freezing and gritty against his skin. Minutes passed, his breath forming plumes in the air, before his fingers struck something solid. It was metallic, cold and rusted. Heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs, he cleared away the earth until a small, hinged box emerged, its surface half-charred. He lifted it carefully, the weight in his palms feeling monumental. Inside lay gasoline-soaked rags, incomplete insurance documents singed at the edges, and a few charred children’s drawings—clear evidence of intent and a frantic cover-up. Beneath them, Manny’s fingers closed around a broken collar tag. He wiped the dirt away, revealing an engraved name: the name of Max’s dog. His breath caught. Vale had tried to erase everything, even this small token, that could implicate him.
A harsh voice split the silence. “Put it down.” Vale stood at the edge of the yard, a shovel gripped tightly in his hands, pure fury twisting his features. “You have no right to be here,” he shouted, stepping forward. His presence radiated a raw, volatile desperation. Manny realized in a flash that Vale had come back tonight to reclaim the box, or to eliminate the witness who found it.