And Evelyn realized, standing there in the firelight with a living child in her arms and no one else aware he had survived, that she was holding an opportunity.

She should have run to the nearest officer.

Instead, she saw money.

Months earlier she had met a wealthy couple, desperate for years to adopt a child and unable to.

She kept my son, and manufactured his death, and sold a place in a family that could not get one honestly.

It was not, in the end, some vast criminal empire.

There were no warehouses, no networks of armed men.