Chapter 8 - VANESSA’S FINAL DEMAND
Detective Reed took my phone.
“Do not answer yet.”
“She has Mark.”
“We do not know that she sent this.”
“She is standing beside him.”
“The image could have been taken earlier.”
“The newspaper is from today.”
“It still may not be live.”
Another message arrived.
MIDNIGHT.
ST. CATHERINE’S OLD MEMORY WING.
COME ALONE.
BRING THE CARD.
Officer Cole shook his head.
“It is a trap.”
“Of course it is,” I said.
Detective Reed examined the photograph.
“The room has no windows.”
“Can you identify the location?”
“Not from this image.”
“Then we go to the hospital.”
“We do not follow a kidnapper’s instructions blindly.”
“She threatened to kill him.”
“And handing her the card may not save him.”
Mr. Harris stood near the kitchen window.
“She believes the recording is the only copy.”
“It is,” I said.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“Arthur would not trust a single recording.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your father was cautious.”
“He created the access code.”
“0914-EMILY.”
“That may not be only a trust code.”
Detective Reed opened the note.
“Lakeview could have an online archive.”
Dad had written the code as though I would understand how to use it.
I did not.
Mom might have.
I looked toward the hidden room.
She had labeled everything.
She had collected years of evidence.
There had to be information about the access code.
We returned upstairs.
The gas had cleared.
Police technicians searched the room for devices.
The shelves contained hundreds of documents.
Mom had organized everything by year.
I found a box labeled ARTHUR.
Inside were Dad’s tax records, insurance policies, handwritten notes, and photographs of financial statements.
At the bottom was a blue envelope.
LAKEVIEW SECURITY.
I opened it.
The first page contained instructions for a private digital vault.
Dad had created it through the investment company that managed the trust.
The login required three pieces of information.
The code hidden in the watch.
Mom’s date of birth.
And the answer to a security question.
WHAT DID ARTHUR BUILD FIRST?
I knew the answer.
A red birdhouse.
He built it for Mom when they were seventeen.
We entered the information.
The vault opened.
Dozens of files appeared.
Bank statements.
Trust records.
Emails.
A duplicate of the workshop video.
And an audio file recorded the night Dad died.
I clicked it.
Dad’s voice filled the room.
“Vanessa, sit down.”
“I don’t have time for this.”
“You forged my signature.”
“You gave me authority.”
“I gave you permission to review the account.”
“Not to transfer shares.”
“It was temporary.”
“You moved them into a shell company.”
“I was protecting the investment.”
“You were hiding it.”
Vanessa laughed.
“You have no idea how business works.”
“I know theft.”
“You would never speak to Emily this way.”
“This is not about Emily.”
“It is always about Emily.”
“Your mother and I love both of you.”
“No.”
“You pity me.”
“Vanessa.”
“You gave her everything.”
“The workshop.”
“Your time.”
“Your patience.”
“She earned my trust.”
The audio became silent for several seconds.
Then Vanessa spoke again.
“So I didn’t?”
“You lied about the watch.”
“I was twelve.”
“You lied about college tuition.”
“I paid it back.”
“You lied about your credit cards.”
“I made mistakes.”
“You took money from your mother.”
“I borrowed it.”
“You forged my authorization.”
“You were going to give everything to Emily anyway.”
“I was going to divide it equally.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to return the shares.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I will call the police.”
A chair scraped.
Vanessa’s breathing became louder.
“You would send your own daughter to prison?”
“You made that choice.”
Then came the sound of liquid pouring.
Dad spoke again.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting water.”
“That is my coffee.”
“Then drink it.”
The audio continued.
A cup touched wood.
Dad coughed.
His breathing changed.
“What did you put in this?”
“Nothing.”
“Vanessa.”
“You are working yourself up.”
“My chest.”
“Sit down.”
“Call an ambulance.”
“You are fine.”
“Give me the phone.”
“No.”
“Give me the phone.”
The next sound was a body striking the floor.
Dad gasped.
Vanessa’s voice came close.
“I begged you to choose me.”
Dad struggled to answer.
“We did.”
“No.”
“You always chose her.”
Then another man spoke.
“Is he conscious?”
Every person in the room froze.
Dr. Pierce.
Vanessa answered.
“Barely.”
“Move away from him.”
Footsteps approached.
Dr. Pierce’s voice remained calm.
“He has a weak pulse.”
“Can you fix it?”
“You did not call me here to fix it.”
My hands became numb.
Pierce had been inside the house.
He had watched Dad die too.
“What do we do?” Vanessa asked.
“We wait.”
“How long?”
“Not long.”
Dad made a faint sound.
Pierce continued.
“The substance will mimic cardiac failure.”
“Will they test for it?”
“Not without an autopsy.”
“My mother may ask for one.”
“Then convince her not to.”
“What about the account?”
“You take nothing for now.”
“But the shares—”
“Will remain untouched until the trust activates.”
“And Emily?”
“She knows nothing.”
The recording ended.
Detective Reed copied the file directly into police evidence.
“This changes everything.”
“Then arrest Pierce,” I said.
“We are searching for him.”
“What about Mark?”
“We will find him.”
My phone rang again.
This time, it was a video call.
Vanessa’s face appeared.
Behind her, Mark sat tied to a hospital bed.
His mouth was covered with tape.
“Midnight,” she said.
“You murdered Dad.”
Her expression did not change.
“You have been listening to old recordings.”
“Pierce helped you.”
“Mom recorded plenty of nonsense.”
“Dad recorded it.”
For the first time, fear entered her eyes.
Only briefly.
Then she smiled.
“Bring me the card.”
“It has already been copied.”
“Then bring every copy.”
“The police have it.”
She looked directly into the camera.
“Are the police listening now?”
Detective Reed signaled for me to keep her talking.
“What do you want?”
“My life back.”
“You built your life on lies.”
“I built what Mom and Dad refused to give me.”
“They loved you.”
“They judged me.”
“You stole from them.”
“They had more than enough.”
“You killed Dad.”
“I did not touch him.”
“You poisoned his coffee.”
“I poured from a bottle Pierce gave me.”
The room became still.
Vanessa had just confessed.
Maybe she realized it.
Maybe she no longer cared.
“He told me it would make Dad sleepy,” she said.
“You watched him die.”
“I panicked.”
“You took his phone.”
“I was scared.”
“You called Pierce before helping Dad.”
“He was a doctor.”
“You had planned it together.”
“No.”
“Then why was he already nearby?”
Her jaw tightened.
“Bring the card.”
“Where is Mark?”
“Safe.”
“Let me speak to him.”
She pulled the tape from his mouth.
Mark gasped.
“Emily, do not come.”
Vanessa struck the bed rail beside him.
“Tell her you are alive.”
“I am alive.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Where are you?”
“Old hospital wing.”
Vanessa replaced the tape.
“Midnight.”
The call ended.
Detective Reed checked the time.
10:17 p.m.
“The old memory wing has been closed for eight years,” Mr. Harris said.
“Vanessa knew the building.”
“So did Pierce,” I said.
Detective Reed began outlining the rescue plan.
Police would enter through the basement.
A tactical team would cover every exit.
I would remain outside.
I agreed.
Then I lied.
Because Vanessa had spent her entire life counting on other people to underestimate her.
I knew she would prepare for the police.
And I knew she would prepare for me to obey them.
At 11:48 p.m., while officers gathered near the south entrance, I entered the hospital through the tunnel Mom once used to reach the laundry building.
A tunnel Vanessa did not know existed.
At least, I hoped she did not.
I reached the old memory wing at 11:57.
The hallway smelled of dust and disinfectant.
A light burned beneath Room 214.
Mom’s former room.
I opened the door.
Mark was alone on the bed.
His restraints had already been cut.
“Emily?”
“Where is Vanessa?”
His face was gray.
“She knew the police were coming.”
“Where did she go?”
“She said she had one last thing to collect.”
“What?”
Mark looked toward the cabinet beside the bed.
“Your mother’s original medical file.”
A speaker crackled overhead.
Then Vanessa’s voice filled the room.
“You were always too easy to predict, Emily.”
May you like
The door locked behind me.
Gas began pouring from the ceiling vent.
