Melinda’s POV
The drive to Fremont was longer than I remembered.
Four hours from L.A., endless coastline, too much time to think. Carrie offered to come. James did too. I told them both no.
If I found the child, I needed to look them in the eye — alone.
The cover was simple. I’d booked a visit to a women’s transitional shelter I had funded through the Initiative. I’d worked with them twice before, sent resources, helped fund legal aid. This visit wouldn’t raise suspicion.
But that wasn’t the stop I cared about.
The one that mattered was three blocks down from the shelter:
Roosevelt Academy — a small, well-rated private middle school with 212 students and a single mention of a scholarship program funded through anonymous donors.
I had a feeling I knew who the donor was.
The shelter
