[CHAPTER 8]
I dropped flat.
Instinct.
A second later, glass exploded above me.
The bullet hit the wall.
I crawled behind Sophie’s bed and called 911.
“There’s a shooter outside my house.”
Another shot.
Wood splintered.
I kept my head down.
Police arrived in four minutes.
The shooter was gone.
They found footprints behind the hedge.
A rifle casing.
And tire tracks.
Marcus Vale.
Almost certainly.
Detective Harris arrived furious.
“You were supposed to tell us before entering the house.”
“I didn’t know someone was watching.”
“That’s why we tell you.”
He was right.
I handed him Claire’s old phone.
His expression changed immediately.
“This may be the strongest evidence we have.”
“That’s why Marcus tried to kill me.”
“Possibly.”
“No. He knew I found it.”
Harris looked toward the shattered window.
“Then someone told him.”
Someone who knew the house.
Someone who knew Sophie hid things.
I thought of my mother.
Then rejected it.
She was in custody.
Vanessa too.
But information could travel.
Harris checked their call records.
Vanessa had made no outside calls since her arrest.
My mother had.
One.
To her attorney.
Her attorney was not Marcus.
But phone records showed another number contacted Marcus ten minutes later.
The attorney’s assistant.
Harris left without explaining further.
By morning, the assistant was under investigation.
The conspiracy kept growing.
That scared me.
Vanessa had not been acting like one desperate woman.
She had built a system.
Money.
Fear.
People willing to protect themselves.
Claire watched the video from her old phone that afternoon.
She cried silently.
“I forgot recording this.”
I sat beside her.
“I forgot listening to you.”
“What?”
I swallowed.
“I stopped listening before the crash.”
She looked at me.
I forced myself not to hide.
“You tried to tell me something was wrong with my mother.”
“You were tired.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“No.”
“I told you she was family and you were overreacting.”
Claire’s eyes dropped.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
The silence lasted.
Then she said, “I was angry at you.”
“You should have been.”
“I thought about that anger every day after I woke up.”
My throat tightened.
“I wondered whether I should come back.”
“Because of me?”
“Because I didn’t know what I was coming back to.”
That hurt.
But truth was supposed to hurt before it healed.
“I won’t ask you to forgive me.”
She looked at me.
“I’m not ready.”
“I know.”
“I don’t even know who I am now.”
“I know.”
“No, Ethan. You don’t.”
Her voice sharpened.
“I woke up with scars and headaches and no memory of my daughter’s face.”
I went still.
“For three days, I knew I had a child, but I couldn’t picture her.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Do you know what that does to a mother?”
“No.”
“I thought I had failed her before I even knew her name.”
I wanted to hold her.
I did not.
Claire continued.
“Then memories came back. Sophie laughing. You dancing badly in the kitchen. Our house.”
She smiled through tears.
“And then Vanessa answered your phone.”
I felt sick again.
“She told me Sophie had finally stopped asking for me.”
Claire looked toward the window.
“I believed I might hurt her by returning.”
“She never stopped needing you.”
“I know that now.”
We sat there until Sophie entered.
She carried two cups of hot chocolate.
One had marshmallows overflowing.
“One for Mommy,” she said.
Then she looked at me.
“And one for Daddy.”
I laughed.
“Which one is mine?”
She handed me the cup with fewer marshmallows.
“This one.”
“Why does Mommy get more?”
Sophie thought seriously.
“She was dead longer.”
Claire burst out laughing.
Then covered her mouth.
I laughed too.
It was terrible.
And perfect.
Sophie looked pleased with herself.
For thirty seconds, we were a family again.
Then Harris called.
They had found Marcus.
Dead.
His body was inside a motel room two counties away.
Single gunshot.
Police believed it was murder.
Claire’s smile vanished.
“If Marcus was cleaning up evidence…”
“Someone cleaned him up.”
Harris agreed.
Worse, forensic technicians found a note in Marcus’s pocket.
Three words.
MARGARET KNOWS EVERYTHING.
My mother.
Again.
I went to see her in jail.
She sat behind glass in an orange uniform.
I barely recognized her.
“I didn’t kill Marcus,” she said immediately.
“I didn’t ask.”
“You think I did.”
“I think I don’t know you.”
That hit her.
She looked down.
“I made terrible mistakes.”
“You left Claire alive beside the road.”
“I panicked.”
“You threatened Sophie.”
“I was terrified.”
“You stole from her.”
“I intended to replace it.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You hear yourself?”
She began crying.
“I loved you.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
“I am.”
“No.”
I leaned closer to the glass.
“Marcus had a note saying you know everything.”
Her face changed.
I saw it.
Fear.
Real fear.
“What do you know?”
She shook her head.
“Nothing.”
“Mom.”
“Leave it alone.”
“Someone tried to shoot me.”
Her hand flew to her mouth.
I watched her reaction.
Genuine.
She had not known.
“Who is it?”
She began shaking.
“Ethan, take Claire and Sophie and leave the state.”
“Who?”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Vanessa wasn’t the one in charge.”
I stopped breathing.
My mother whispered.
“She was afraid of him too.”
“Who?”
Before she could answer, the guards rushed into the room.
An alarm sounded.
My mother stood.
Across the jail corridor, another inmate collapsed.
Chaos erupted.
A guard pulled my mother away.
She pressed both hands to the glass.
“Ethan!”
I stood.
She shouted one name before the door closed.
“Richard!”
My blood ran cold.
Because there was only one Richard who connected all of us.
May you like
Vanessa’s father.
The man who had been my father’s business partner for twenty-five years.
