Chapter 3 - The Broken System
The next morning, the fluorescent lights of the Department of Child Services felt harsher than usual. I hadn't slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the flash of the camera, followed by the terrifying, immovable presence of Declan Shaw.
When I walked into my supervisor’s office, the air was instantly toxic.
Brenda didn’t even look up from her monitor. "You’re off the Marcus case."
I froze in the doorway. "What?"
"You heard me." She tossed a manila folder onto the edge of her desk. "Reassigned as of 8:00 AM. Judge Halpern’s office filed a formal complaint against you this morning. Harassment, overreach, and unprofessional conduct. You’re lucky you aren't suspended."
"Brenda, that boy is being abused! You’ve seen the bruising reports. You’ve seen the school counselor’s notes. They are keeping him in that house to collect the specialized foster care stipend, and Halpern is covering for them!"
"Keep your voice down!" Brenda snapped, finally looking at me, her eyes wide with panic. "Do you want to lose your license? The system is what it is. We don't take on state judges. Step down, or they will bury you."
Tears of pure, white-hot frustration burned my eyes. I snatched the reassignment paper, ripping it in half, and let the pieces fall onto her desk. "I’m not dropping him."
I stormed out of the office, my hands shaking. I made it to the sidewalk outside the building before the tears finally fell. I felt entirely powerless. A single mother with a six-year-old daughter, fighting a machine that had limitless money, power, and zero conscience.
"You look like you need a coffee."
I spun around. Declan Shaw was standing against the brick wall of the alleyway, a steaming paper cup in his hand. He was wearing a charcoal tailored suit, looking every bit the untouchable billionaire the tabloids painted him to be. But the way he looked at me wasn’t corporate. It was intensely, fiercely focused.
"What are you doing here?" I wiped my eyes quickly, embarrassed.
He handed me the coffee. "I had my people pull Halpern’s financial records last night. You were right. The foster parents aren't just collecting stipends. Halpern uses that specific foster home as a ghost address to funnel campaign funds. Marcus isn't just a victim. He’s a liability. If they remove Marcus, the state conducts a full audit of the household."
I felt physically sick. "They’re keeping a seven-year-old in hell to hide stolen money."
Declan’s jaw tightened. "Yes."
"I was just taken off the case," I admitted, my voice breaking. "I can't access his file. I can't request a welfare check. I have nothing."
Declan took a step closer. His hand reached out, hovering for a second before he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His touch was warm, an electric contrast to the cold morning air.
"You have me," he said.
"I don't know what you are," I said, looking up into his dark eyes. "People say you run half the criminal enterprises in this city. People say you destroy lives."
"I destroy the people who deserve it," Declan corrected smoothly. "I am the man people call when the law fails. And right now, the law has failed Marcus. And it is failing you."
He pulled out a burner phone and placed it in my hand.
"Go pick up Nora from school. Take her to your apartment. Lock the door and pack a bag for three days," he instructed. "Do not answer your regular phone. When I call this one, you come downstairs."
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"What are you going to do?" I asked, my heart hammering.
"I am going to get Marcus."
