Smiles and handshakes. It seemed that's all my life was at this point. My hard work at continuing my parent’s legacy had paid off, to the detriment of my personal life, except for Esme. She changed my life in a way I hadn’t thought possible. When the doctors first laid her in my arms, it made my purpose in life sharper, clearer, as far as what I needed to do to keep her safe. I’d been given a fortune bigger than most people could imagine, and at the age of eighteen I was in control of sums of money that could transform lives. Which meant I controlled lives, lives of adults, and that kind of power in the hands of any kid was dangerous. It split my personality in some ways. In front of the crowds and cameras, I was one way but, behind closed doors, it was another story. A side of me I couldn’t let out often, not in the brightness of day. It was a side of me that had scared more than one woman away, which cemented my decision to keep those encounters as close to professional as possible, setting boundaries for them and for me. If I allowed myself to truly unleash, I don’t know if there was a woman out there who could handle me.

“Sir, we have a situation,” Derek said, pulling me aside from the handshake carousel I was continuously on. Things moved in slow motion as I raced out of the boardroom, knocking a few suits out of the way.

Fear does not begin to describe the feeling that coursed through me as my security team and I turned the city upside down looking for Esme. She knew better than to run off. I’d been at the bank, setting up a trust for a foundation I’d donated to, and I brought her along. We were going to a show after and it would make things easier. Plus, I hated leaving her on her own for so long. The day Esme was born was one of the happiest of my life. I still remember that glowing ball of joy that welled up inside me as I held her in my arms for the first time.

The happiness of that experience only made the gut punch of what I’d learned two years later that much harder to bear. But today would rank right up there as one of the worst days of my life. Esme wasn’t known for wandering off or being able to shake her security. But how many six-year-olds had their own security detail? I couldn’t take chances with her. I wouldn’t. Her disappearing act had me calling in every person I knew, monitoring every radio frequency, and I was even working on getting someone on tracking cell signals when security spotted her through the window of a diner. I’ve never run so fast in my life. My feet pounded against the pavement, jarring shocks running through my body as I slid into the diner.

I didn’t even stop to evaluate the scene. Derek stood in front of a woman, who stood in front of Esme and she was my concern. I scooped my daughter up in my arms and breathed her in. She smelled like chocolate and coffee. She looked up at me with big wide eyes and a huge smile. I smiled even though I internally jumped back and forth between wanting to yell at her never to do that again, and deciding I was never letting her out of my sight again, now that she was safe.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” I said, forcefully. She nodded and whispered a ‘sorry daddy’ with her arms wrapped around my neck. My heart rate finally returning to normal, I turned to the woman who had been between Derek and Esme. A waitress. A waitress who worked here in the diner from the looks of the other people standing around. Had Esme wandered into the diner? The waitress had a big scrape on her knee and her stockings were ripped. Her rich mahogany eyes went through a few different stages of emotion, anger, surprise, then recognition. Ah yes, she knew who I was. And what I wanted to know now was what the hell she’d done with my daughter. And now a new emotion sprung up in her eyes, fear. Good, I wanted to ensure her cooperation in whatever came next.

“Rhys Thayer,” I said, extending my hand to hers. She wiped her palm on her dingy pink skirt.

“Mel. Melanie Bright,” she said, shaking my hand. Her small hand felt like spun glass in my hand, although her demeanor screamed tough chick. She fidgeted with the hem of her skirt.

“How did you end up with my daughter, Ms. Bright?” Had she coerced her from wherever she found her? Had Esme come into the diner? My mind cycled through all the horrible scenarios I’d created in my head in the two hours Esme had been missing. Especially since Esme wouldn’t have cried out for help.

“I was getting money out of the ATM, and I think Esme saw I was hurt and wanted to help.” She kept talking, but nothing registered in my mind after she said Esme's name. Had the other security guard said it to her before I got there?

“So she wandered away to help you? Someone she’s never met?”

“I don’t lie,” she said, through gritted teeth. “I didn’t know where she came from. She just pushed through the door and she was there.”

“And you just walked away with her?” I growled.

“No,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “I didn’t just walk away with her. I asked her where her parents were. And she said it was just her dad,” she continued, but my brain froze at that statement. Esme said it was just her dad. Esme didn’t talk to anyone but me. The waitress kept talking. I must have misheard her. “—stood around waiting for someone who looked like they lost her and then asked her which direction she came from. She pointed this way, so I figured we might run into her dad on the way back. Esme and I came back to the diner. I got her a cup of her favorite drink, hot chocolate, and she’s just been hanging out with me. Right, Esme?”

“How did you know hot chocolate was her favorite?” I know there’s a lot of information out there about me and Esme, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t something that had ever come up. How did she know that? Who was she? Had she found a way to lure Esme away? I raced through several ways to protect my daughter from whatever this threat might be and stepped in front of Esme.

Melanie stopped short with whatever she was saying and tilted her head to the side. She eyed me quizzically. “She told me,” she said, looking at me like I was the biggest moron she’d ever spoken to. Esme spoke to her? That sentence seemed so strange in my own head that I had to roll over it a few times. It came out stilted as I said it out loud.

“Esme spoke to you?”

“Yes, she gave me this handkerchief for the cut on my knee,” she said, producing one of mine from her pocket and gesturing to her leg. “And said it was for my boo-boo and then she told me her name.” I glanced from Esme, whose tiny fingers gripped onto three of mine, and back to Melanie. I had to revise my initial assessment of her. Her mussed mop of light brown hair flew in different directions as she hustled from table to table.

Her eyes were what struck me first, bright and friendly, although they were quite wary right now. She came up to my shoulder, which meant she was taller than average for a woman, since I was over six feet. Athletic, with some curves. Cute even, spunky probably. Someone who would turn heads when she walked into a room, but not even notice. But the thing that intrigued me most was that she’d connected with my daughter, who had only ever spoken to me in the past three years.

“She hasn’t spoken to anyone other than me in over three years.”

Another head tilt. She glanced from me to Esme.

“She hasn’t?” she said, squinting like she was trying to piece together the same puzzle I was. Why had Esme decided to speak to her?

"No, she hasn't," I said, trying to figure her out.

"Wow, in that case," she said, crouching down, "I am really glad you decided to speak to me when you got lost, Esme. That was very brave of you." She smiled and Esme lit up. The smile she gave Melanie reached all the way there. I hadn't seen one of those in a long time.

"Thank you for the hot chocolate, Mel," Esme whispered, low enough that only the three of us could make it out. She tentatively stepped out from behind me and flung herself at Melanie and wrapped her arms around her waist. Derek's phone clattered to the ground beside me. I don't think he'd ever heard her speak before. Derek glanced over at me and I nodded. I wanted to know everything there was to know about Melanie Bright and I wanted that information yesterday. I needed to figure out why she seemed to be the key to unlocking Esme from the world she’d closed herself inside.

"Thank you for looking after my daughter. Someone will be in touch with you shortly," I said, turning to head out with Esme's hand firmly in mine. We'd have to have a talk about running off with strangers.

"In touch about what?" she asked, her hand shooting out to grab my arm. I glanced down at her hand where she grasped me. Her warmth seeped through my suit jacket even on this cold day. I looked up, meeting her eyes and she quickly pulled her hand back. I bit back my reflex to put it back. I didn’t know who the hell this woman was, but I would find out.

"There will be a nondisclosure agreement someone will send by that you'll need to sign." This could be a big problem for me. For Esme. Everything about our lives needed to be picture perfect and having her run away and get lost would not play well to anyone. A host of non-disclosure agreements and other documents would be on their way to Mel to ensure our lives weren't disrupted by someone who might want to do us harm.

“Wait—” she said, trying to follow after us, but we were already gone. We walked out of the diner and stepped into a waiting town car. At home, after a long talk with Esme about never doing anything like that ever again, I put her to bed and sat down in my study. Glass of scotch in my hand, I nursed it and thought back to the waitress from the no-name diner. Melanie. I rolled her name over in my mind.

Derek dropped off a folder with her whole life story in it a little while ago. Grew up in the Midwest, a few run-ins with the police over things like shoplifting when she was younger. A screwed-up childhood that included some time in the foster-care system. Her home life was about as far away from mine as you could get, but growing up like I had, maybe we had more in common than I thought. The rest of the file contained a few red flags, but nothing major. Moved to NYC a few years ago, bounced around from job to job. No college, no career, no real prospects. So why had Esme decided to open up to her?

My life as the poor little rich boy meant my friends were few and family nonexistent. My parents hadn’t known they would die in their forties, but their wishes for the money they left me were clear. So clear, I wondered if they’d ever seen me as more than an extension of their legacy. I didn’t want that for Esme. She’d know I loved her, cared about her as my daughter, not as another vehicle for my life’s mission. Which meant she’d always be my little girl, but she’d have to leave like everyone else in my life left. The pain that drove through me washed away, seeing her grow and flourish. Which was why I needed to figure out Melanie Bright. Was she the key to fixing whatever broke inside my little girl? Would she be the key to helping her with troubles on the horizon?

Esme didn’t speak to anyone. Anyone but me, that is. For the past three years, since her mother died, she’d been virtually mute. She’s so smart, did well in school, but will not speak to anyone else. I’ve taken her to every specialist I could think of, every psychologist, psychiatrist, everyone says it’s okay for her to have experienced trauma related to her mother’s death. That she’ll come out of it when she’s ready, but I know that’s not true.

I know she’s seen things no child should ever see. My hand and fingers were tingling, throbbing as the anger warred with shame. I did everything I could, short of committing my wife to get her better, to keep her safe, but money combined with access meant the temptations Beth faced were nearly insurmountable. My biggest regret was that she’d managed to expose Esme to any of it. She lulled me into a false sense of security, I thought it was all behind her. I’d let her take Esme that day. Mother-daughter bonding she’d said. I’d been too damn stupid to see her slips. I thought I had it all under control. I’d been wrong. I’d been so fucking wrong and now my little girl paid the price.

The prickling heat that built up whenever I thought of that day reached a boiling point. I felt better for a second, letting the fire race through me. The tight reins have come off for just a little bit. But then I slam on the brakes. I must maintain my image, not only to protect myself, but to protect my daughter. There are so many ways this can go wrong. I worry that it isn’t a phase and she won’t grow into the woman I envision, leading a happy and healthy life. I’m determined, though. And that day will come.

One day she’ll grow up. And I'll be all alone again. All alone with the regrets of my life. All alone with money that wasn’t mine to spend, only mine to give away, and I’ll have no one to share my life with. But my daughter deserves to have a real shot at a life, not the fishbowl existence I was born into.

I’d tried to make things work with a couple of women after my wife. I thought maybe a mother figure would help Esme recover, but once they knew the strings attached to my money, my life didn’t seem so glamorous anymore. And once I saw how many people walked away after they knew, I wasn’t going to expose Esme to anyone else who wasn’t going to stick around. So I stopped talking and started using, using them like they intended to use me.

Trust wasn’t something that came easily to someone in my position. Someone with my background. Widower and single father. A man who required far too much from a woman to find it all with one. Everyone on the outside sees me as the prince of my own tale, but they don’t know me. They don’t know what my life has been like and they don’t know the beast that rages inside.

And after six nannies, from the best recommendations, over the past three years, they were never the right fit. Never able to connect with my daughter, not like a waitress off the street had. I sent a text to my assistant. There would be some changes happening tomorrow. I checked on Esme again before slipping into the gym. The lap pool called to me. I stripped down and dove in. The warm water soothed me as I threw myself into the laps. Stroke after stroke, the water rushing over me as I kick flipped turn after turn.

Passing out at my desk in the wee hours or swimming laps until my legs were like leaden weights, threatening to pull me under; those were the only ways I could sleep most nights. The only way to pass out in my bed before my head hit the pillows. It also kept the clawing, bone-chilling nightmares at bay.