Chapter 10 - The Child Behind the Locked Door
Dad dragged me into his study and closed the door.
I twisted away.
"What are you doing?"
He stood between me and the exit.
"Saving you from yourself."
I stared at him.
"Where's Oliver?"
For a moment, he looked genuinely surprised.
Then his expression hardened.
"So she told you."
"Where is he?"
Dad straightened his jacket.
"Your sister has always been reckless."
"He's seven years old."
"Then she should have considered his future before trying to destroy this family."
I stepped toward him.
"Don't you dare blame her."
His eyes narrowed.
"Watch your tone."
I almost laughed.
There it was.
The voice that had controlled my childhood.
The same warning he'd used when I was twelve and disagreed with him at dinner.
When I was sixteen and asked why Mom was crying.
When I was twenty-six and begged him to let me see Rachel's supposed remains.
Watch your tone.
Be respectful.
Don't embarrass the family.
I looked at him.
"I'm not sixteen anymore."
He smiled without warmth.
"No. You're old enough to understand consequences."
My phone vibrated.
Dad glanced at my pocket.
"Give it to me."
"No."
"Mara."
"No."
He took a step closer.
I moved back.
"Someone already knows where I am," I said.
It wasn't a bluff.
Before dinner, Foster had given me instructions for checking in.
I was due to contact her at a specified time.
If I missed it, investigators would attempt to reach me.
Dad knew none of that.
But he knew I wasn't acting like the frightened daughter he remembered.
"Who have you spoken to?" he demanded.
I didn't answer.
His expression changed.
"Did you go to the storage unit?"
My heart jumped.
There.
Confirmation.
He knew about it.
"Why?"
He came closer.
"What did you find?"
I stared at him.
"Mom's voice."
He stopped.
For the first time, real fear crossed his face.
"That's impossible."
"She recorded you."
He looked toward the window.
Then whispered, "Your mother never knew when to leave things alone."
The words struck me harder than I expected.
"You hated her."
"I gave her everything."
"Except safety."
His face tightened.
"Your mother was weak."
"No. She was afraid of you."
He laughed bitterly.
"She was afraid of losing what she had."
I took a breath.
"Did you kill her?"
Silence.
Dad studied me for a long time.
Then he said, "You have no idea what happened to Caroline."
"Then tell me."
His jaw tightened.
"Your mother took medication for a heart condition. She was careless. People sometimes die because they don't follow medical instructions."
The answer felt practiced.
Too smooth.
"You arranged her medical care."
"I was her husband."
"You controlled everything."
"I protected my family."
I looked at him.
"Is that what you call kidnapping Oliver?"
His expression hardened.
"That child is leverage. Nothing more."
My stomach turned.
"You admit it?"
"I admit that your sister has something that belongs to me."
"Evidence of murder?"
He slammed his palm against the desk.
"Don't use words you don't understand."
I flinched.
Then hated myself for it.
He noticed.
A small smile returned.
For twenty years, he'd relied on that reaction.
I forced myself to straighten.
"I understand enough."
He leaned closer.
"Then understand this. Rachel will give me the documents, and that boy will go home."
"And if she doesn't?"
Dad said nothing.
The silence was answer enough.
I backed toward the door.
"I'm leaving."
He caught my arm.
"Not until you tell me who else knows."
I pulled away.
"Take your hands off me."
He reached again.
The door suddenly opened.
Eliam stood in the hallway.
"Arthur."
Dad turned.
"Not now."
Eliam looked at me.
"Everything okay?"
I saw the tension in his shoulders.
I also saw his phone in his hand.
"No," I said clearly. "It's not."
Dad smiled.
"Family disagreement."
Eliam stepped into the room.
"Mara, we should go."
"Nobody's going anywhere," Dad said.
Eliam's expression changed.
"Let her pass."
Dad laughed softly.
"Son, you don't understand what you're involved in."
"I understand enough."
For a moment, the two men faced each other.
Then Victor appeared behind Eliam.
His face was pale.
"Arthur."
Dad didn't turn.
"What?"
"We have a problem."
"What kind?"
Victor looked toward the staircase.
"The boy got out."
My heart stopped.
From somewhere above us came a crash.
Then running footsteps.
A child's scream split the silence.
Victor spun toward the stairs.
I shoved past my father.
"Mara!" Eliam shouted.
I ran.
At the top of the staircase, a little boy stood beside a broken vase.
Brown hair.
Wide eyes.
A dinosaur shirt.
Oliver.
He looked exactly like the photograph.
He saw me.
For one second, he froze.
Then he whispered, "Aunt Mara?"
My throat closed.
"Yes, sweetheart."
His lower lip trembled.
"Mommy said if I ever found you, you'd help me."
I held out my arms.
"Come here."
He ran.
I caught him against my chest.
He was trembling so badly I could feel it through his shirt.
Behind me, Victor shouted.
"Put him down!"
I turned.
Victor was climbing the stairs.
Dad stood below him.
Eliam was reaching for his phone.
I held Oliver tighter.
"No."
Victor stopped halfway up.
"Mara, don't make this ugly."
I looked at him.
"You're the one who kidnapped a child."
Dad raised his voice.
"Bring him downstairs."
Oliver buried his face against my shoulder.
"Please don't let them take me."
I looked at my father.
"No."
He took one slow step upward.
"Mara."
I stepped backward.
"Stay away."
He kept coming.
"You're confused."
I thought of my mother.
Rachel.
The funeral.
The lies.
The years he'd stolen.
"No," I said.
"For the first time in my life, I'm not."
Then headlights flooded the front windows.
Car doors slammed outside.
Someone shouted from the porch.
"Police! Open the door!"
Dad stopped.
His eyes moved toward Eliam.
Then me.
And suddenly I understood.
He hadn't just been lying to me.
He'd been terrified that one day I would stop believing him.
Victor turned toward the back hallway.
Dad grabbed his arm.
"Get the car."
My heart dropped.
There was another exit.
A service staircase led from the second floor to the garage.
If Victor escaped, he might disappear before investigators could question him.
Eliam moved to block the hallway.
Victor shoved him.
They crashed against the wall.
Oliver screamed.
I backed toward an upstairs bedroom, locked the door, and called Torres.
"He's here," I gasped. "Oliver's here. Upstairs."
"Stay where you are."
"Victor's trying to escape."
"We have officers covering the exits."
Below us, someone shouted.
A door slammed.
Then I heard three sharp sounds.
Gunshots.
Oliver began crying.
I dropped to my knees and covered his ears.
"It's okay," I whispered.
But I didn't know whether it was.
May you like
Because the next voice I heard was Eliam's.
And he was screaming my name.
