Chapter 3: The Nurse Who Held the Key
Liam spent the rest of the night on the phone with his lawyer, Marcus Hale, a former federal prosecutor who’d worked with the Voss family for 15 years, who’d never once questioned Liam’s decisions, who’d always had his back. Marcus called in a favor with a private investigator in Miami, a former NYPD detective named Jake Torres, who’d built a reputation for finding people who didn’t want to be found. Jake arrived at the Star Island estate at 7 a.m., his truck loaded with surveillance equipment, his notebook open, ready to work.
Liam walked him through everything that had happened, played him the voice memo, showed him the custody papers, told him everything Eleanor had said. Jake nodded, taking notes, his face serious. “Eleanor Voss isn’t the first rich person in Miami to steal a grandkid,” he said, shutting his notebook. “I worked a case two years ago, a developer in Coconut Grove, his wife stole his daughter from his ex-wife, used the same playbook: fake psychiatrist’s report, a judge they’d bribed, hid the kid with a private nurse. We found her in a condo in Fort Lauderdale, three days after she was taken. Eleanor’s going to use the same playbook. She’s not creative. Rich people never are. They stick to what works.”
Jake pulled up a list of all the private pediatric nurses in South Florida who’d worked with high-net-worth families, who’d been around long enough to have taken care of Voss family kids. There were only three names. One was retired, living in Maine. One was working at a children’s hospital in Orlando. The third was Margaret Carter, 64, who’d been a private nurse in Miami for 38 years, who’d taken care of Liam when he was a baby, who’d worked for the Voss family off and on ever since. Liam recognized her name immediately. Margaret had been at his 10th birthday party, she’d been there when he’d had appendicitis at 17, she’d always been kind to him, she’d sent him a birthday card every year until he turned 30.
“That’s her,” Liam said, pointing at Margaret’s name. “Eleanor mentioned a nurse who’d taken care of Voss babies for 30 years. That’s Margaret. She’s the one who has Elijah.”
Jake pulled up Margaret’s address, a small house in Pinecrest, a quiet neighborhood 20 minutes from Miami Beach. He pulled up her phone records, found that she’d made a call to Eleanor’s cell phone at 1 a.m. that night, the same time Liam had arrived at the estate. She’d made another call to a private ob/gyn in Fort Lauderdale, 45 minutes north of Miami, at 3 a.m. “She’s got him in a guest house the ob/gyn owns,” Jake said, leaning back in his chair. “I know that ob/gyn. She rents out her guest house to rich families who need to hide a kid, or a mistress, whatever. It’s private, it’s gated, no one knows it’s there. That’s where Eleanor stashed Elijah.”
Liam grabbed his keys off the counter, told Maya he’d be back with Elijah, that he was going to go get their son, that everything was going to be fine. Maya grabbed his hand, told him to be careful, that Eleanor had people watching the house, that she’d put a security guard at the gate to make sure Liam didn’t leave. Liam looked out the window, and sure enough, there was a man in a black SUV parked at the end of the driveway, watching the house. Jake smiled, pulled a set of keys to his own truck out of his pocket, and told Liam they’d leave through the back gate, the private gate that led to the bay, that Eleanor didn’t know he knew about. Liam had forgotten about that gate. Arthur Voss had built it in the 1980s, to escape paparazzi, it was overgrown with brush, no one used it anymore. They grabbed their bags, walked through the back yard, pushed through the brush, and climbed into Jake’s truck, which was parked on the other side of the gate, out of sight of the security guard.
They drove north on I-95, the radio off, Jake’s phone tracking the address of the ob/gyn’s Fort Lauderdale home. Liam’s hands were shaking the whole drive, his mind looping over what Elijah looked like, if he was okay, if Margaret was taking care of him, if he was hungry, if he missed Maya. He’d only seen photos of Elijah, taken by the nurse at the hospital, sent to him while he was in Zurich. He’d never held him. He’d never gotten to touch his son’s face, to hear him cry, to be there for his first day of life. And if he didn’t get to the Fort Lauderdale house in time, Eleanor would move him again, and he might never get that chance.
They pulled up to the ob/gyn’s house an hour later, a large white mansion on a canal, the guest house at the back of the property, hidden by palm trees. Jake pulled his truck over a block away, cut the engine, and they walked the rest of the way, sticking to the side of the road, staying out of sight of the security cameras that lined the front of the main house. They climbed over the back fence, quiet as mice, and walked toward the guest house. Liam could hear a baby crying through the screen door. It was Elijah. He’d know that cry anywhere, even if he’d only heard it over the baby monitor at the house.
He walked up to the door, knocked softly, and Margaret Carter opened it, her eyes wide when she saw Liam. She’d been holding Elijah, wrapped in a white blanket, his tiny face red from crying. She stepped back, letting Liam in, and he walked over, taking Elijah from her arms, holding him for the first time, his son’s warm weight against his chest, the sound of his cries fading as he settled into Liam’s arms. Margaret started crying, telling Liam she was sorry, that Eleanor had paid her $100,000 to take Elijah, that she’d told her Maya was unfit, that Liam had abandoned the baby, that she’d never have agreed to take him if she’d known the truth.
“I knew you when you were a baby,” Margaret said, wiping her tears, handing Liam a bottle of formula that was warming on the counter. “I would never have hurt you. I would never have taken your son. Eleanor told me so many lies. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I fell for it.”
Liam held Elijah tight, feeding him the bottle, his eyes never leaving his son’s face. He was perfect, just like Maya had said, his tiny fingers wrapped around Liam’s thumb, his eyes open, looking up at him like he knew who his dad was. Jake stood by the door, keeping watch, telling Liam they had to leave fast, that Eleanor’s security team would figure out they’d left the estate, that they’d track Margaret’s location, that they had to get back to Miami, to file the emergency custody motion before Eleanor could stop them.
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They left the guest house 20 minutes later, Elijah wrapped in the blanket, Margaret following them, saying she’d testify against Eleanor, that she’d tell the court everything she’d done, that she’d help them get permanent custody, that she was never going to work for the Voss family again. They drove back to Miami, stopping at a small apartment in South Beach that Liam owned, a tiny condo he’d kept hidden from his family, a place he’d go to when he needed to get away from the pressure of running the Voss Hotels Group. No one knew about the condo. Not Eleanor, not Richard, not anyone but Maya. It was the safest place they could stay, while they fought to keep Elijah.
Liam walked into the condo, set Elijah’s car seat on the living room floor, and called Maya, telling her they had Elijah, that he was safe, that she needed to pack a bag and meet them at the condo, that Jake would send a car to pick her up. Maya cried on the phone, saying she was on her way, that she couldn’t wait to hold her son. Liam hung up the phone, sitting down on the couch, watching Elijah sleep in his car seat, and for the first time since he’d walked into the empty nursery, he breathed easy. He had his son. He’d found him. Now he just had to keep him.
