The Miami sun hung heavy in the sky. In the backyard of a modest white ranch house, laughter and the sizzle of burgers on the grill filled the air. It was the twelfth annual Hoffman Barbecue, a tradition that had weathered the storms of divorce and disappointment. Douglas Hoffman, the host, clung to the rituals of the day, flipping burgers and stacking onions, trying to mask the cracks in his life with a practiced smile.
But as the evening wore on, the laughter turned to panic. His ten-year-old son, Leo, had vanished. The boy, quick and curious, had been seen talking to a stranger?a man with a tattoo of a vulture on his neck. The party guests searched frantically, but Leo was nowhere to be found. As the Miami night closed in, Douglas realized that his world was unraveling, and the life he had worked so hard to build was slipping through his fingers. Somewhere out there, his son was gone, and the nightmare was only beginning.
