The piercing wail of sirens swelled, drowning out the last sputtering gasps of the sprinkler system. Blue and red strobes painted the warehouse's grimy windows, flashing a frantic disco beat across the drenched concrete. Selah, still nestled in her overturned stroller, could just make out the figures in the main office through the steamed-up glass. Vance was gesticulating wildly, his face contorted into a mask of feigned outrage, while Bram sat slumped, bewildered, at the monitor. The rows of offshore figures still flickered, a silent indictment. Then, the heavy steel door of the warehouse burst inward, revealing a phalanx of federal agents and city police. One, a burly man with a thick mustache, his trench coat already damp from the rain outside, pointed directly at the office. “Freeze! FBI! Open the door!” he boomed, his voice cutting through the din. Vance’s head snapped towards the door, his eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second before he smoothly adopted an expression of aggrieved innocence. He patted Bram’s shoulder with a theatrical flourish, then strode to the office door, opening it with a practiced sigh. “Agents, thank heavens! A complete disaster, I tell you. Some sort of disgruntled former employee, I suspect,” Vance began, gesturing vaguely at the dripping gala attendees. “This good man, Mr. Abernathy, he was simply trying to help me salvage some data. The poor fellow barely knows how to operate a microwave, let alone these complex systems.” The burly investigator, Agent Sterling, strode past Vance, his gaze landing on Bram’s wide, innocent eyes. Bram, soaked to the bone and shivering, looked entirely lost, like a fawn caught in headlights. He lifted his hands instinctively, as if to ward off a blow, his face a canvas of pure, unadulterated confusion. He was a factory worker, not a criminal mastermind. He looked exactly what he was: a kind soul who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, too trusting for his own good. Sterling’s gaze lingered on Bram, then swept over the flickering monitor. He seemed to take in the clean, if simple, cut of Bram’s clothes, the calloused hands, the completely guileless expression. The agent sighed, a puff of steam in the cool, damp air. “Alright, Mr. Abernathy, we’ll need you to come down to the precinct for some questioning. And you, Mr. Vance, we’ll be seizing these premises and all associated equipment. We have a few questions about ‘Stanton Connect’ and your... subsidiary, ‘Apex Link.’” Bram flinched at the mention of Apex Link, a name he’d only ever heard Vance utter. He looked at Vance with a flicker of dawning horror, but Vance merely offered a sympathetic, reassuring smile. “Of course, Officer. Anything to assist law enforcement. It’s a terrible misunderstanding, I assure you.” Selah’s tiny fists clenched in her stroller. She yearned to scream, to point, to somehow make them see. But Bram, her big, kind, naive father, was being led away. He didn't resist, just walked with a bewildered slump, his head bowed. Her breath caught in her throat. This was her fault. Her stupid pride, her belief that she could outmaneuver Vance from a playpen, had put him in this position. The usual cold, calculating logic that governed her reborn mind fractured, replaced by an overwhelming ache. She had no use for a telecommunications empire if it cost her father his freedom, his peace. She needed him safe, happy, ignorant of the ruthless world she navigated. A profound, almost painful surge of protective love washed over her, melting the cynical CEO exterior she had so carefully constructed. He was her father, her gentle giant, and she would tear down the world to keep him safe. Hours later, a pale, exhausted Bram finally returned home, Dessa clutching him tightly, murmuring reassurances. He’d been questioned for what felt like an eternity, but his genuine ignorance and wholly convincing bewilderment had apparently been his best defense. They’d released him, deeming him a harmless, if slightly gullible, bystander. Vance, the true architect, remained free, having spun a plausible tale of being a victim himself, of ‘Apex Link’ being a separate entity he was ‘investigating.’ He’d even managed to portray Bram as a well-meaning but completely incompetent associate who had ‘accidentally’ stumbled into the server room during the chaos. Selah stewed in her crib, rage bubbling. He was slippery, like a greased eel. But he had made one mistake: he had underestimated her love for her family. The house, usually a cheerful hub of activity, was muted. Bram was asleep, Dessa hovering nearby, while Selah lay in her crib, the soft glow of her nightlight casting long shadows. A faint, almost imperceptible scratching sound came from beneath her crib. Selah held still, her heart thrumming. She knew that sound. It was the careful, deliberate tap of a rival, a co-conspirator. Then, a tiny hand, adorned with a faded blue glow-in-the-dark star sticker, reached out from under the crib, pressing gently onto her palm. *Tap-tap-pause-tap-tap-tap.* Selah felt the familiar pattern, the universal language of their kind. *C-O-R-I-N.* He was still here. Still with her. Another tiny hand emerged, covered in more star stickers, and began to tap a new rhythm, slow and deliberate, on her wrist. *A-L-L-I-A-N-C-E.* Then a pause. Another star-studded finger tapped, this time with a hesitation she hadn't heard before, a vulnerability that made her tiny chest clench. *M-O-R-E.* Corin shifted, and she felt a faint tickle as his cheek brushed her arm. He was close, hidden in the shadows, his glowing stars like tiny constellations. *W-A-N-T-Y-O-U.* The taps were almost painfully soft now, each one a whisper against her skin. *L-I-F-E.* Air trapped in her lungs. Not just business. Not just taking down Vance. He wanted *her*. In life. A peculiar warmth, alien yet deeply comforting, spread through her. Her usual steely resolve softened, replaced by a tremor of something akin to longing. She longed to reach out, to trace the glow of his stars, to acknowledge this strange, beautiful confession. The cutthroat CEO, reborn as a baby, felt her heart skip a beat for the first time in this new existence. She was about to tap a reply when the nursery door creaked open, spilling a warm yellow light into the room. Dessa stepped in, her face beaming, a wide, proud smile splitting her lips. She held a single sheet of paper aloft, waving it gently. “Selah, my little helper! Mommy did something wonderful for the family business!” she chirped, her voice bubbling with misplaced triumph. “Old Man Vance left these ‘final release forms’ for Bram to sign, but he was so tired, bless his heart. So, I took care of it! He said it just finalized our partnership, made everything official for ‘Stanton Connect’s’ bright future!” Selah’s tiny, reanimated heart plummeted into her stomach. Her gaze fixed on the paper in Dessa’s hand. *Final release forms.* Vance had accelerated his timeline. He hadn't needed Bram to sign the forged Apex Link documents tonight. He’d needed these. Dessa, in her loving, naive attempt to help, had just handed Old Man Vance legal, undeniable, 51% ownership of their company.

Diapers and Depositions