Chapter 3

Jack’s day trip to Washington carried over to the next day. He landed in Miami late Wednesday afternoon and drove straight

from the airport to his law office.

Myra Weiss had essentially locked him in a conference room with a Georgetown law professor for the required crash course on

the Hague Convention, international child abduction, and child custody law. His training included case studies, which only

confirmed that, way too often, the accused abductor was an abused woman fleeing domestic violence. The other point the professor

impressed upon him was the speed at which the cases moved through the court system. “Six weeks from filing to finish,” she’d

told Jack. “In the world of jurisprudence, a Hague proceeding is a sprint, not a marathon.”

There was no time to waste. Jack called Andie from the car and told her he would not be home for dinner; he had a seven o’clock

meeting in his office. His client arrived early and was waiting on the front porch when his car pulled up in the driveway.

“I’m Jack,” he said as he unlocked the front door.

“Do you live here?” she asked. “This looks more like a house than an office.”

Jack smiled and showed her inside. It actually was a house that dated back to the 1920s, built in the old Florida style with external walls of coral rock, a gabled roof covered in Cuban barrel tile, and, on the inside, refurbished floors of Dade County pine. Over the years the neighborhood had transitioned from residential to commercial, one old house after another transformed into a doctor’s office, a wine bar, a Pilates studio, or a cigar shop. The area was especially popular with criminal defense lawyers, who could practically walk to the courthouse along the Miami River. Jack’s office was in the oldest house on the block, once home to Florida pioneer Julia Tuttle.

“Sometimes my wife does accuse me of living here,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I’m keeping you away from your family, aren’t I?”

“Not at all,” he said, though, truthfully, she was.

Jack’s personal office was once the dining room, his favorite room in the house. He switched on the lights and led his client

past his desk to the matching armchairs in front of the fireplace, which Jack used about once every five years. He cleaned

it once every ten.

“You didn’t offer your name when I introduced myself,” said Jack.

“Did you not read it in the court filing?” she asked.

“The complaint was filed under seal. I can’t read it until you engage me as your attorney. That aside, I assume your real

name is not Jane Doe.”

“No,” she said quietly.

“I understand you go by the name Ava Bazzi.”

“Yes.”

“Are you Ava Bazzi?”

She glanced away, toward the dark window, then back at Jack. “No.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Zahra Bazzi. Ava was my sister. The pretty one.”

She was being modest; the woman before him was quite striking. But Jack had more important things to address.

“I’m going to need a very good explanation why you’re using your sister’s name. But before we get there, I want to know more

about Yasmin. Is she your child, or your sister’s?”

“Yasmin is the biological child of Ava and Farid.”

“Which makes her your niece,” said Jack.

“She was my niece. Until...”

“Until what?”

“Until I married Farid.”

Jack was taken aback. “You married your sister’s husband?”

“I married her widower.”

Farid as widower comported with what Jack had learned from Myra about Ava’s encounter with the morality police. But he wanted Zahra’s version of the story.

“May I explain?” asked Zahra.

“Please do.”

“Ava is—was—my younger sister. Farid and I are almost the same age. We dated when I was eighteen and Farid was nineteen. It

was serious, but he was a very jealous man.”

“Was he abusive?” asked Jack.

“Never physically abusive, but he had a temper and could be verbally abusive. I broke off the relationship.”

“And then?”

“A few years passed, and Ava blossomed into this beautiful young woman. Farid noticed. Everyone noticed. Ava asked me if it

was okay with me if she dated him.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I had no feelings for Farid. But I warned her about his temper. Ava said that he was no longer the jealous boy I’d dated

as a teenager, and that he’d matured into a caring and understanding man.”

“So they started dating.”

“They fell in love and were married.”

“When did Yasmin come along?”

“About a year after they married. She was just a few months old when they moved to London.”

As Jack recalled, the UK connection was how Farid’s lawyer had filed the case under the Hague Convention. “Tell me about that.”

“Farid wanted to expand his hotel business to London. He got what’s called a UK Tier 1 Entrepreneur visa, which allows foreigners

from outside Europe to invest in and run a business. After five years, the visa holder and his family can apply for British

citizenship.”

“Was that their plan? To become British citizens?”

“I don’t know. Whatever the plan was, it failed. Covid killed the hotel business.”

“Is that why the family returned to Iran?”

“Yes. And everything changed.”

“What do you mean by ‘everything’?”

“Ava, for one. She liked the freedom she had as a woman in the UK. She didn’t want to go back to Iran.”

“Did Farid change as well?”

“From what I saw, yes. He was bitter and said the family would never go back to the UK. He never wanted to leave Iran again.”

“Did he change toward Ava?”

“Again, I can only tell you what I saw, and I didn’t like what I was seeing. He was verbally abusive to Ava, much like the

way he treated me when we dated as teenagers.”

Jack flipped the page on his notepad. Zahra was doing just fine with the chronological recital of events, but it was already

late, and he hadn’t seen his wife and daughter in two days. He skipped ahead in the story.

“How did Farid react to Ava’s arrest by the morality police?”

“He was ready to divorce her before hearing her side of the story,” said Zahra.

“What story did he hear that made him want to divorce her?”

“The government’s story. They said she escaped from police custody, abandoned her husband and daughter, and returned to London

to practice her wanton Western ways.”

“You don’t accept that story?”

“I don’t, and I never will. It’s a lie.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know my sister.”

“Anything more specific than that?”

“Ava’s dream was to return to London with her daughter. She would never have left Yasmin behind.”

Jack tried to imagine Andie fleeing Miami, never to see Righley again. It was inconceivable. “So, it’s your position that

the government concocted the story that Ava escaped and fled the country.”

“Yes. To cover up the fact that she was tortured and murdered in custody by the morality police. Like so many others who took to the streets in the hijab protests.”

“But you can’t prove that.”

“No one will ever be able to prove it.”

Jack flipped the page again in his notepad. “Let’s circle back to where this conversation started: Why were you living under

your sister’s name?”

“Why don’t you ask the US State Department that question?”

“I’m asking you.”

“It was the best way to protect myself.”

“From what?”

“When I took Yasmin and brought her to Miami, I knew that someone might find me and try to take her back.”

“By ‘someone,’ you mean Farid.”

“Yes. The only way to protect myself was to use Ava’s passport and assume her identity.”

“How did that protect you from Farid?”

“It made the Iranian government my ally.”

“Your ally?”

“Not a formal alliance. But they would have no choice but to protect me.”

“I don’t follow your logic,” said Jack.

“From the very beginning, the Iranian government has denied that the morality police murdered Ava while she was in custody.

It’s their position that she fled to the West and is still alive. When Zahra Bazzi became Ava Bazzi, I sent them a very clear

message.”

“What message?” asked Jack.

Her expression turned very serious. “If the Iranian government or anyone else tries to take Yasmin away from me, it will be

war. I will throw an international spotlight on Ava’s disappearance. I will make it my mission, to my last dying breath, to

let the whole world know that the morality police did murder the real Ava Bazzi—a woman who did absolutely nothing wrong, and who lost her life only because she passed too close to a hijab protest while walking her daughter home from school.”

Jack understood the full implication of her words. “Setting off a diplomatic crisis between the United States and Iran was

not exactly the legal strategy I had in mind.”

“The legal strategy is your department,” said Zahra. “But now you know my strategy. And it’s a good one.”

“If you decide you want me to be your lawyer, we can talk more about whether it’s a good one.”

“It’s already working, Mr. Swyteck. Why do you think Farid filed this case as John Doe vs. Jane Doe ? Either the Iranian government forced him to keep the Bazzi name out of this, or he’s trying to fly under the radar.”

The use of pseudonyms was unusual in legal filings, which lent some credence to her explanation.

Zahra’s cell rang, and she checked the incoming number. “It’s Yasmin’s babysitter,” she told Jack. “I have to take this.”

“Go right ahead.” Jack rose to give her privacy and started toward the door, but the call was over before Jack was out of

the room.

“I’m sorry,” she said, tucking her phone into her purse. “I have to leave.”

Jack stopped at the door. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Yasmin just needs her mommy.”

For a split second, Jack thought she meant Ava, but “mommy” meant Zahra.

“If you’re ready to retain me as your attorney, I can read the sealed court filings tonight, and we can have a more in-depth

talk in the morning. It’s your decision.”

“Of course I want you,” she said.

“Good. I’ll walk you out.”

Jack led her past the reception desk in what was once a living room, out the front door, and down the front steps. Flashes

of moonlight broke through the sprawling limbs of a century-old oak tree as they crossed the lawn to Zahra’s car.

“I look forward to meeting Yasmin,” said Jack.

“She knows nothing about this.”

“Understood. We’ll keep it that way as long as we can.”

She shook Jack’s hand. “Thank you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” said Jack.

Zahra climbed into her car. Jack closed the door, the engine started, and she drove away. Jack watched until the red taillights

rounded the corner and faded into the darkness.

Her mommy needs her.

Those words raised a host of questions. Apparently, “Zahra became Ava” was something his client meant quite literally. Or

maybe the real explanation wasn’t apparent at all. Either way, Jack knew exactly where their conversation would pick up in

the morning.

Jack started back inside, across the lawn, and through the darkness. The moment he passed the oak’s massive trunk, something—someone—appeared

out of nowhere, flattening him like a passing bus. Before he could react, he was facedown in the grass. His attacker was sitting

on his kidneys, and a cold steel blade was at his throat.

“Don’t move,” the man said. He had a wad of cotton or something in his mouth to distort his voice. “This is about Zahra, not

Ava. You understand me?”

Jack heard his words, but he was too overwhelmed to understand. “Whatever you say.”

The blade slid higher up Jack’s neck. “No! Not ‘whatever I say.’ If you make this case about what happened to Ava, someone

is going to get hurt. Now do you understand?”

The message was much clearer, and Jack burned those words into his memory: What happened to Ava.

“I understand,” he said.

“Good. Now, keep looking at the ground. Don’t get up till you count to a thousand. And don’t you dare call the police. Got

it?”

“Got it.”

“Count out loud!”

“One, two—”

“Slower!”

“Three,” he said, and with the short pause that followed, the blade pulled away from his neck. “Four,” and the man’s body

weight lifted from the small of his back.

“Five... six,” he continued, his count much slower than the echo of fleeing footfalls on pavement as his attacker faded

into the night. He stopped counting at ten and sprinted across the lawn, up the front steps, and into his office. He grabbed

his cell and dialed. Zahra answered.

“Zahra, it’s Jack. Are you okay?”

“Yes. Fine. I just got home. Is something wrong?”

Jack quickly told her what happened.

“Oh, my God,” she said. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. Everything’s going to be just fine. But let’s not take any chances. I want you to lock your doors and stay inside.

I’m calling the police now.”

“No! Don’t call the police! It will only make things worse!”

The attacker’s warning was still in the back of his mind: Don’t you dare call the police .

“Let’s talk about this,” said Jack. “I’ll come to you. What’s your address?”

She told him, and then reiterated her plea. “Please, Jack. For my sake and Yasmin’s, don’t call the police. Things will get so much worse. I know how he operates.”

“How do you know who he is?”

“I don’t. Not for certain. But every fiber in my body is telling me that you just met Farid.”

Jack caught his breath. “I’ll be at your house in five minutes.”

“Okay. And, Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s an awful lot you don’t know.”

“I gathered that,” he said, and hurried out the door.