[CHAPTER 9]
The basement recording room was hidden behind a wall I had walked past hundreds of times.
Marcus found the latch near the wine racks.
The panel opened.
Behind it stood a camera.
A chair.
A small lamp.
Children's books.
A microphone.
And a box of candy.
Reward and punishment.
My stomach turned.
Detective Bennett stopped me from touching anything.
Crime-scene technicians photographed the room.
They found Sophie's fingerprints.
Vanessa's.
Graham's.
And dozens of video files stored on an encrypted drive.
We watched only enough to understand what they were.
Vanessa sitting opposite Sophie.
“Again.”
Sophie crying.
“Daddy screamed at me.”
“You need to look at the camera.”
“I don't want to.”
Vanessa leaned forward.
“Do you want Winston to be safe?”
Sophie nodded.
“Then do it correctly.”
I walked out.
I made it to the hallway before I hit the wall with my fist.
Pain shot through my hand.
Emily followed.
“Stop.”
“I left her here.”
“Richard.”
“In my house.”
“I know.”
“I slept upstairs while she—”
“You weren't always home.”
“That makes it worse.”
She grabbed my wrist before I hit the wall again.
“Your guilt is becoming another way of making this about you.”
That stopped me.
I stared at her.
Emily's eyes filled with tears.
“I loved Claire. I love Sophie. And yes, you failed her.”
My chest tightened.
“But if you spend every day punishing yourself, Sophie will spend every day trying to make you feel better.”
I looked away.
“She already lost one parent.”
The words hurt.
“Don't make her emotionally carry the other.”
I lowered my hand.
Emily released me.
“Be guilty later.”
“What?”
“When she's twenty-five and safe and complaining that you call too much, feel guilty.”
Despite everything, I laughed once.
Emily wiped her eyes.
“Right now, be her father.”
So I did.
I went upstairs.
Sophie was coloring with Rachel.
I sat beside them.
She noticed my knuckles.
“What happened?”
“I hit a wall.”
Rachel gave me a look.
Sophie frowned.
“Was the wall bad?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because I was angry.”
She thought about that.
“Miss Vanessa hit things when she was angry.”
I swallowed.
“I shouldn't have.”
“Will you hit me?”
“No.”
“What if you're really angry?”
“No.”
“What if I'm bad?”
“No.”
“What if I break something expensive?”
I looked around the mansion.
“Then we'll probably both cry about the price.”
She smiled.
I smiled too.
“I will never hit you.”
She returned to coloring.
A few minutes later, she pushed a purple crayon toward me.
“Make a flower.”
My flower was terrible.
She corrected it.
Progress came in tiny pieces.
Meanwhile, police recovered more evidence.
The staged videos were meant to support a child-abuse complaint against me.
Vanessa planned to submit them after manufacturing a visible injury.
Jonathan explained the likely strategy.
“If Sophie appeared bruised and repeated statements on video—”
“They would investigate me.”
“Absolutely.”
“Could they remove her?”
“Temporarily, yes.”
“And Vanessa would offer herself as placement.”
“Exactly.”
I felt sick.
“How close did she get?”
Jonathan looked at the dates.
“Very.”
One video was recorded only nine days before I came home early.
Vanessa had a family-court attorney appointment scheduled for the following Monday.
If I had stayed at work that Thursday, the plan might have continued.
I looked at the teddy bear I had bought Sophie.
A stupid impulse purchase.
A canceled meeting.
Seventeen minutes that changed everything.
That thought terrified me.
What if I hadn't looked at Sophie's photograph?
What if I had stayed?
What if the acquisition meeting went another hour?
I stopped myself.
Be guilty later.
Be her father now.
Then Bennett called.
“We found Vanessa.”
I stood instantly.
“For real?”
“We have eyes on her.”
“Where?”
“A house near Stamford.”
“Whose?”
“Her mother's.”
Eleanor.
My stomach dropped.
“I thought Eleanor was in Vermont.”
“She was.”
“Was?”
“She disappeared from protective housing this morning.”
“What?”
“We believe Vanessa contacted her.”
“Is she in danger?”
“We don't know.”
Police surrounded the Stamford property.
I stayed home because Bennett practically ordered me to.
For forty minutes, no one came out.
Then Bennett called again.
“The house is empty.”
I closed my eyes.
“You said you had eyes on Vanessa.”
“We saw someone matching her description enter.”
“And?”
“She left through a rear access route before containment.”
“Eleanor?”
“Gone too.”
“Did Vanessa take her?”
“We think so.”
The house contained blood.
Not much.
Enough to concern everyone.
Eleanor's phone lay smashed in the sink.
On a bedroom mirror, someone had written one word in lipstick.
TRAITOR.
Graham heard the news in custody.
He panicked.
For the first time, he offered everything.
Bank accounts.
Aliases.
Safe houses.
Contacts.
He admitted that Vanessa had become increasingly unstable after Claire's death.
“She blamed me,” he told detectives.
“For what?” Bennett asked.
“For not letting her handle Claire sooner.”
My skin crawled when Bennett repeated it to me.
Graham claimed Vanessa had followed Claire the night of the crash.
He insisted he had ordered her only to scare Claire.
Not kill her.
“Do you believe him?” I asked.
“No.”
“Did he admit involvement?”
“He admitted conspiracy to intimidate.”
“And murder?”
“No.”
“What does he say happened?”
Bennett looked at her notes.
“He says Vanessa called him at 9:41 that night.”
“What did she say?”
“She said, ‘Problem solved.’”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
Not proof of murder.
But close enough to destroy the last part of me that still wanted Claire's death to be random.
That evening, I sat beside Sophie's bed.
“Tell me a Mommy story,” she said.
“What kind?”
“A funny one.”
I thought.
“Your mother once got us locked out of a hotel room in Paris.”
Sophie smiled.
“How?”
“She went into the hallway for ice and forgot the key.”
“Where were you?”
“In the room.”
“Then why couldn't you open?”
“Because I was asleep.”
Sophie giggled.
“She banged on the door for ten minutes.”
“What happened?”
“I finally woke up.”
“Was Mommy mad?”
“Very.”
“At you?”
“Yes.”
“Did she still love you?”
I smiled.
“Yes.”
Sophie became quiet.
“People can be mad and still love?”
“Yes.”
She absorbed that.
Then whispered, “I was mad at you.”
My throat tightened.
“For leaving me.”
I nodded.
“You had every right.”
“I still loved you.”
Tears burned my eyes.
“I still loved you too.”
She reached for my hand.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
A photograph loaded.
Eleanor tied to a chair.
Alive.
Terrified.
Behind her stood Vanessa.
May you like
The message read:
BRING SOPHIE TO ME, OR CLAIRE WON'T BE THE ONLY MOTHER WHO DIES.
