Chapter 3 - The Shadow in the Guest House
The rain began as a light drizzle, slicking the flagstone path leading toward the guest house.
I kept the flashlight turned off, navigating by the ambient blue glow spilling through the living room blinds.
The front door was ajar, a sliver of darkness gaping open against the white doorframe.
I pushed it open slowly, the hinges uttering a faint, agonized squeak in the night air.
Inside, the room had been completely ransacked.
Drawers were pulled out, cushions torn open, and papers scattered across the hardwood floor like fallen leaves.
Sitting at the center desk was a young woman in a dark rain slicker, her fingers moving frantically across a custom laptop.
"Don't move," I said, stepping into the frame and flashing the bright beam directly into her face.
She shielded her eyes with an arm, but I recognized the icy blue tint of her irises instantly.
It was Claire Vance—Evelyn’s younger sister, a high-end corporate forensic accountant who had vanished three years ago.
"You're too late, Daniel," Claire hissed, her voice trembling with adrenaline rather than fear.
"Michael didn't act alone, and neither did my sister."
"Who hired you?" I demanded, taking a step closer toward the desk.
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"Your wife didn't die in a simple car accident," Claire spat, slamming the laptop screen shut.
"She found out what the trust was actually funding, and now you're about to pay the exact same price."
