CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

"Mothers?" repeated Rory.

"PTA, Mother's Day Out, tennis club, pickleball, book club, wine club. Mothers. Moms who can't afford the luxury bag or shoes they want. They want the latest luxury SUV with the television screens in the back and the extra cargo space. They want the nine-hundred-dollar pair of sneakers, the four-hundred-dollar pair of sweats.

"When they show up at book club, they want the other women to see their new Rolex or diamond tennis bracelet. Asked how they could afford it, they simply reply, ‘I have a side hustle.' They have access to children and parents who trust them with their children. They can watch them from school grounds, they can see them at kids' birthday parties, and practically hand them over with a bow on their heads.

"These aren't stupid women. They're college-educated, motivated, and organized. They have a network of women that work with them, and they split the profits, all while turning in their neighbors' children without blinking an eye."

"He's telling the truth," said Victoria. She stared at the man who was her biological father, then felt the warm hands of Ashley and Bree at her back. "I'm going to hang up now. You'll do the right thing, won't you, Mr. Trak? Mr. Gaspar? All of you?"

"We'll do the right thing, little one," said Trak. The screen went black, and the men all looked at Krauss.

"Where is the head of this mom's mafia?" asked Ghost.

"I don't know her name. The name of the company is Gaia, like the Greek goddess of earth and mother of life. They've got some shit on their website about it. They use their platform to offer help and advice to overwhelmed mothers. If a mother is overwhelmed, she's probably not watching her kids like she should. She naps, she reads a book in the park when she has her three minutes to herself. And in that time…"

"Another mother takes their kid," whispers Miller. "This is fucking sick."

"Kids trust moms. They often don't trust men, but these women have figured it out," said Krauss.

"How many are there?" asked Gaspar.

"Eleven head up the group, but they get other women to help by giving them some fucking sob story. They tell them that the kid was taken from their real parents or stripped from the father and is now being abused. There's nothing like a group of angry fucking mothers."

"Most of these women have no clue what they're actually helping with," said Ghost.

"We've got the site up," said Ace behind them.

"Shit!"

"Son-of-a-bitch!"

"Fuck me!"

"When did you two get here?" asked Gaspar.

"We came in behind the others. We've been listening to everything. I've got the site up, and I can shut it down. I'll place a message on the site telling women who log in what it is. I'll also let them know that they can expect a visit from the FBI."

"We need to find the women that are in charge of the site," said Ian.

"That's easy," said Krauss. "They're all located in one neighborhood outside of Philly. They have a social media site as well."

"Found it," said Code. "Looks like the mommies are enjoying a girls' weekend in Charleston."

"I guess we're going to Charleston," said Nine. He looked at Krauss, and the man just shook his head.

"I get it. You can't leave me alive. Yulia was right about one thing. There will be dozens more to pick up where we left off."

"And there will be dozens more of us," said Rory. "Dozens and dozens of men and women who have the same sense of justice, right and wrong. We will never stop until all of you are dead."

With a final search to be sure that nothing was left behind, they bound the men in the basement, leaving Krauss and Yulia side by side in their chairs. It would appear as a murder-suicide if they recovered anything at all from the fire.

As the home behind them erupted in flames kissing the sky, the men looked back to be sure that no one would leave. Satisfied with their work, they headed to the airport, where Chipper and Doug were waiting for them.

"Gentlemen. We're clear for South Carolina."