Chapter 1 - THE WOMAN ON THE SCREEN
“He told Aunt Nora that after you drank the tea, Mommy was next.”
For several seconds, Ethan Blackwood did not move.
The phone felt impossibly heavy in his hand.
On the screen, Amelia lay beneath a thin hospital blanket in a locked room.
Her face was pale.
A faint scar crossed her temple.
Her dark hair, once cut just above her shoulders, now fell almost to her waist.
But Ethan knew her.
Seven years could not erase the way her left eyebrow curved slightly higher than the right.
Seven years could not erase the small line beside her mouth that appeared whenever she slept.
Seven years could not make him forget his wife.
Victor stepped closer to Amelia’s bed.
A syringe glinted between his fingers.
Ethan’s entire body went cold.
“Samuel.”
Dr. Hayes looked up.
“Can you trace the feed?”
“I can try.”
Ethan handed him the phone.
“No.”
Lily suddenly grabbed Ethan’s sleeve.
Everyone looked at her.
She pointed at the screen.
“There.”
The camera feed showed Victor placing the syringe on a metal tray.
He turned toward someone outside the room.
Lily whispered, “He talks to the doctor first.”
Ethan crouched beside her.
“You’ve seen this before?”
Lily nodded.
“Aunt Nora watched the camera sometimes.”
“Why?”
“She wanted to know when Mommy was awake.”
Ethan felt something tear open inside his chest.
“You knew that woman was your mother?”
Lily hesitated.
“Aunt Nora said maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“She said I was never supposed to call her Mommy.”
Ethan closed his eyes for one painful second.
Then he looked toward Nora.
The security officers still held her near the doorway.
“What facility is this?”
Nora said nothing.
Ethan walked toward her.
“I am going to ask you once.”
His voice was quiet.
That frightened her more than shouting would have.
“Where is my wife?”
Nora’s lips trembled.
“Victor will kill me.”
“If you stay silent, Victor may kill Amelia in the next five minutes.”
Nora stared at Lily.
Then something inside her finally collapsed.
“Saint Catherine Behavioral Institute.”
Dr. Hayes looked up sharply.
“That place closed six years ago.”
“The public wing did,” Nora whispered.
“The east building never closed.”
Ethan turned to his security chief.
“Marcus.”
Marcus Reed was already reaching for his phone.
“Vehicles in ninety seconds.”
“Call Detective Ramirez.”
Marcus paused.
“Police?”
“Not local police.”
Ethan’s eyes remained on Nora.
“Victor owned half the people who investigated the fire.”
Nora looked away.
That was confirmation enough.
Ethan pointed to the sealed bag containing the tea.
“That goes with us.”
Then he looked at Lily.
“You stay here with Dr. Hayes.”
Lily immediately shook her head.
“No.”
“Lily.”
“No.”
Her tiny hands closed around his sleeve again.
“If you leave, he’ll take you too.”
Ethan’s expression softened.
He had spent seven years imagining what he might have said if his daughter had lived.
He had imagined birthday mornings.
Christmas mornings.
Her first day of school.
He had imagined hearing the word Daddy.
He had never imagined hearing it while his wife’s life counted down on a phone screen.
He placed both hands gently on Lily’s shoulders.
“I’m coming back.”
She stared at him.
“Promise?”
Ethan swallowed.
“I promise.”
Lily reached beneath her pajama collar.
She removed the silver locket and pressed it into his palm.
“For Mommy.”
Ethan closed his fingers around it.
Then he rose.
“Marcus.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Lock this mansion down.”
“No one enters.”
“No one leaves.”
“Nora stays under guard.”
“And get every Blackwood board member on notice.”
Marcus frowned.
“For what?”
Ethan looked at the live image of Victor standing beside Amelia.
“Tell them tomorrow’s vote is still happening.”
Dr. Hayes stared at him.
“Ethan.”
“Victor believes I’m supposed to die tonight.”
A cold clarity settled over Ethan’s face.
“Let him keep believing that.”
Outside, black SUVs roared to life beneath the mansion lights.
For seven years, Ethan Blackwood had mourned the dead.
May you like
Tonight, he was going to retrieve them.
And before sunrise, Victor Blackwood was going to discover that the grave he had built for Ethan’s family had never been deep enough.
