Emma Ramirez hung weakly against a wooden pillar

Robert quickly wiped his face, struggling to pull his professional composure back over his shattering heart. He looked at Mrs. Gable, noting the profound guilt written across her fair, aging features.

"What is it, Mrs. Gable?" Robert asked, his voice rough. "If you know something that can help me bury that woman, you need to tell me right now."

Mrs. Gable looked around the quiet hospital corridor nervously, clutching the crumpled paper to her chest. "I wasn't just Diana's neighbor, Sheriff. Ten years ago, I used to work for her. As a bookkeeper. Before she moved into the Harrington estate, she ran a private 'correctional' camp for troubled youth up in the mountains."

Robert’s eyes narrowed. "A correctional camp? You mean a behavioral facility?"

"That's what it was licensed as," Mrs. Gable explained, tears welling in her eyes. "But it was a nightmare. Diana took in kids that the system didn't want—sick kids, disabled kids, runaways. She claimed she was providing specialized discipline. But it was just a front. She was starving them, locking them in isolation, and cashing massive checks from private donors who wanted the children kept out of sight."

"Why didn't you go to the police?" Robert demanded, anger flaring in his chest. "Why let her get away with it?"

"I tried!" Mrs. Gable cried, her voice echoing slightly in the hall. "I took the ledgers to the district attorney back then. But Diana's husband was a federal judge. The evidence 'disappeared,' and I was threatened with ruin if I ever spoke of it again. I moved away, changed my name... but then she bought the house next door to me last year. It was a message. She wanted me to know I could never escape her."

Robert stared at the woman, the pieces of the horrifying puzzle finally snapping together. "Emma wasn't just kidnapped. Diana took her because she knew she was my daughter. It was a display of power. She wanted to prove she could touch the law enforcement in this town."

"She's sick, Robert," Mrs. Gable whispered, handing him the crumpled paper. "This is an address. When I saw her drag your daughter onto the porch today, I realized she was starting up again. This is a warehouse she owns in the industrial district. If she has other kids, they are there."

Robert took the paper, his hands trembling slightly as he read the address. It was on the outskirts of his jurisdiction, a desolate area mostly abandoned by the city.

Before Robert could process this new objective, the heavy doors of the surgical suite swung open. Dr. Evans stepped out, pulling down his surgical mask. He looked exhausted.

"Sheriff," Dr. Evans said, his voice entirely neutral.

"Is she alive?" Robert asked, closing the distance in a second.

"She survived the dialysis," Dr. Evans nodded slowly. "We managed to filter the toxins and relieve the immediate pressure on her heart. But her vitals are incredibly unstable. She is hovering on a knife's edge, Robert. If she crashes again tonight, there is nothing more we can do."

Robert looked through the glass. Emma was being wheeled into recovery, her small body surrounded by a fortress of machines. She was alive. For now.

"Thank you, Doctor," Robert said softly. He turned back to Mrs. Gable, his eyes hardening into solid steel. "Stay here. If anything changes, call my cell."