Chapter 7 - MY MOTHER’S VOICE
The lights died.
Dana’s officers attacked the steel door while Reagan covered her mouth with a silk scarf.
“There’s an emergency release,” she said. “Give me the silver key and I’ll show you.”
“You’ll die too,” I said.
“I have an oxygen mask.”
She pulled a small respirator from the leather bag.
Elena aimed the gun at her.
“Open the door.”
Reagan placed the mask over her face.
“Shoot me, and no one gets out.”
My lungs grew heavy.
I searched the walls with my phone’s flashlight.
The vault had been designed by my mother. She would never have built a room with only one exit.
On the back of a shelf, I found a scratched letter A.
Amelia.
I pulled the shelf forward. Behind it was a narrow mechanical panel. The silver key fit into a slot.
I turned it.
A section of wall opened into the tunnel.
Dana dragged Reagan out by the arm.
We stumbled into fresh air as fire engines arrived.
Reagan and Carter were arrested. The evidence chest was taken into state custody.
By morning, every local station was reporting that the widow of respected businessman Camden Dennis had been charged with kidnapping, attempted murder and financial fraud.
But none of that cleared my name yet.
Dana opened the document chest at the state office.
Inside were the original company ledgers, photographs of Reagan meeting Miles, and a video recorded by my mother.
I watched Amelia Dennis appear on the screen for the first time since I was thirteen.
Her voice nearly broke me.
“If you’re watching this, then I wasn’t able to finish what I started.”
She explained that Reagan had worked as Camden’s executive assistant before my mother died. Amelia discovered Reagan was stealing and planned to expose her.
Three days later, my mother’s car went off a mountain road.
Her death had been ruled an accident.
On the recording, she held up a repair invoice.
The brake line had been replaced two weeks earlier. A mechanic named Samuel Price later told her someone had paid him to weaken it.
The person who paid him was Victor Hale.
My father stared at the screen from his wheelchair.
“I brought Reagan into our home six months after Amelia died,” he whispered.
I wanted to hate him.
Part of me did.
“You married the woman who killed Mom.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You never wanted to know.”
He lowered his eyes.
That was the truth neither of us could escape.
Dana received a call from the forensic team.
The files proved the theft had been engineered, but the digital evidence used against me had been destroyed in the storage fire.
“We still need Miles Voss,” she said. “Without him, the prosecutor may claim you participated in the scheme.”
“Where is he?”
“No one knows.”
My burner phone rang.
A frightened man spoke before I could answer.
“Finnley, it’s Miles. Carter hired someone to kill me.”
“Where are you?”
“At the bus terminal.”
A loud bang came through the phone.
May you like
Miles gasped.
Then the line went dead.
