Chapter 6: She Came for My Son
I stared at my father through the security monitor.
He looked nothing like the man who had sat at the head of our family dinner table for thirty years.
His coat was torn at the shoulder.
There was blood across one sleeve.
And his face looked ten years older than it had that morning.
“Clara,” he whispered through the intercom, “open the door.””
I didn't.
“Dad, where have you been?””
He looked over his shoulder.
“I don't have much time.””
“Are you hurt?””
“Not badly.””
“That’s not what I asked.””
He pressed the blood-stained folder against his chest.
“Open the door.””
I glanced toward the hallway.
The house was silent.
Matthew was asleep upstairs.
I lowered my voice.
“Why should I trust you?””
My father shut his eyes.
“You shouldn't.””
The answer stunned me.
“Then why are you here?””
“Because whatever happens to me next, you need to know what your mother is planning.””
My heart began pounding.
“You said she was coming for Matthew.””
“She already tried.””
“What?””
“The woman at the school wasn't your mother.””
I froze.
“What?””
“She used your mother's name, but it wasn't your mother.””
I felt a chill move through my body.
“Who was she?””
“I don't know.””
“You expect me to believe that?””
“I don't care what you believe.””
He stepped closer to the camera.
“Clara, someone has been following Matthew for weeks.””
I thought of the photograph.
The school.
The unknown messages.
The blood-stained folder.
My father's voice dropped.
“Your mother knows where he goes.””
“She doesn't know anything about his schedule.””
“She does now.””
“From Ethan?””
My father looked surprised.
“You know about Ethan.””
“I know he accessed my files.””
My father shook his head.
“He accessed more than your files.””
I unlocked the door.
Security rushed forward.
One of them immediately searched my father before allowing him inside.
He raised no objection.
When he entered the foyer, I saw the blood on his sleeve more clearly.
“Sit down.””
“I don't need—”
“Sit.””
He sat.
I remained standing.
“Tell me everything.””
My father looked at the stairs.
“Where is Matthew?””
“Safe.””
“Where?””
I stared at him.
“With me.””
His jaw tightened.
“Good.””
Then he placed the folder on the table.
The blood had soaked through the edges.
I didn't touch it.
“Whose blood?””
He looked at his sleeve.
“Not mine.””
The room went silent.
“Whose?””
He stared at the floor.
“I don't know.””
“Dad.””
“I found the folder in the garage.””
“What was happening in the garage?””
“I went home.””
“Why?””
“To confront your mother.””
“About what?””
“Ethan.””
My heart skipped.
“What did she say?””
“She admitted she hired him.””
My stomach tightened.
“For what?””
“To find the source of your money.””
“That doesn't explain the surveillance.””
“No.””
He looked at me.
“She hired him to find Matthew.””
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Why?””
My father shook his head.
“She believes Matthew controls your future shares.””
“What?””
“She thinks the shares transfer to him if you die.””
I stared at him.
“That isn't true.””
“I know.””
“She can't possibly believe that.””
“She doesn't need to believe it.””
He leaned forward.
“She only needs a lawyer willing to make the argument.””
The pieces began fitting together.
The ownership claim.
The emergency hearing.
The trust records.
Matthew's name.
My mother hadn't simply become obsessed with my money.
Someone had convinced her that taking control of me meant gaining control of everything.
“Who told her about the shares?””
My father looked away.
“Dad.””
“Ethan.””
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Ethan had access to the corporate structure.
He knew the trust.
He knew my relationship with Julian.
And apparently, he knew enough about my mother's greed to manipulate it.
“What does he want?””
My father gave a bitter laugh.
“Everything.””
“He can't have it.””
“That isn't the point.””
“What is the point?””
“The company is only one piece.””
He opened the folder.
Inside were copies of bank records.
Old contracts.
Photographs.
Emails.
And one document with a date six years in the past.
The day after Julian died.
I picked it up.
It was a transfer authorization.
My father's signature was on it.
So was my mother's.
And below them was the signature of a third person.
Ethan.
My hands shook.
“What did he transfer?””
My father said nothing.
I read the numbers.
My heart stopped.
Millions of dollars.
Money had been moved from Havenridge Holdings into an account controlled by a private investment company.
The same investment company that had eventually provided early capital to my startup.
I looked at my father.
“You stole money.””
His face collapsed.
“Yes.””
“You stole it from Havenridge.””
“Yes.””
“And used it to fund me.””
“It wasn't supposed to be theft.””
“What was it?””
“An attempt to save you.””
I laughed bitterly.
“You stole millions to save me?””
“You don't understand what your husband found.””
“Then explain it.””
My father looked toward the stairs again.
“Julian discovered that Havenridge was being used to move money for powerful people.””
“Who?””
“I never learned all their names.””
“You're lying.””
“I wish I were.””
He pushed another photograph toward me.
It showed Julian standing beside a man I had never seen before.
Behind them was a warehouse.
Stamped on the wall was the Havenridge logo.
“Who is he?””
My father swallowed.
“That man was supposed to be dead.””
I stared at the photograph.
“What?””
“He disappeared after Havenridge collapsed.””
“Why would Julian meet him?””
“Because he was trying to expose what they had done.””
My hand trembled.
“Was Julian investigating them?””
“Yes.””
“Did my mother know?””
“She knew enough.””
“Did she know Julian was in danger?””
My father didn't answer.
“Dad.””
“She knew he had found records.””
“That isn't what I asked.””
His eyes met mine.
“Yes.””
The word hit me like a physical blow.
My mother had known.
She had known my husband was digging into something dangerous.
She had known people were looking for him.
And still, she let him go.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“I was afraid.””
“Of her?””
“Of them.””
“Who are they?””
He shook his head.
“I don't know.””
“You've been afraid for six years?””
“Yes.””
“And while you were afraid, you watched my mother destroy me.””
His eyes filled with tears.
“I thought keeping quiet would keep you alive.””
I looked at him.
“You were wrong.””
He nodded.
“I know.””
A sound came from upstairs.
A door creaked.
My entire body went rigid.
“Matthew?””
I ran.
His bedroom door was open.
The night-light was on.
The bed was empty.
“Matthew!””
I searched the bathroom.
The closet.
Under the bed.
Nothing.
My lungs stopped working.
“Dad!””
He rushed upstairs.
“What happened?””
“He was here.””
I turned in a circle.
His blanket was on the floor.
The window was locked.
I grabbed my phone.
“No.””
A security officer appeared in the hallway.
“Ma'am?””
“Where is my son?””
His face drained of color.
“He was in his room.””
“Where is he now?””
“We're checking.””
“Check the cameras!””
“We're already—”
The officer stopped.
His hand moved to his earpiece.
Then his eyes met mine.
“There was a blackout on this floor.””
“How long?””
“Four minutes.””
Four minutes.
Long enough.
I ran downstairs.
My father was already standing beside the foyer.
“Where's Matthew?””
I shoved the phone into his hands.
“He's gone.””
My father looked at the screen.
Then he whispered something that made my blood freeze.
“Your mother.””
“No.””
He shook his head.
“She took him.””
“She couldn't have gotten inside.””
“She didn't.””
I stared at him.
“What do you mean?””
He pointed toward the back hallway.
“She wouldn't need to.””
I followed his finger.
The service entrance.
The one used by staff.
The one my family knew existed.
My heart hammered.
We rushed toward it.
The door stood open.
Cold night air moved through the hallway.
On the floor was Matthew's blue backpack.
I picked it up.
Inside was his favorite stuffed fox.
His lunch container.
A folded drawing he had made at school.
And beneath them, a white envelope.
My name was written across it.
My fingers shook as I opened it.
There was a photograph inside.
Matthew.
He was sitting in a car.
His eyes were frightened.
He was holding the same stuffed fox.
On the back of the photograph, one sentence was written.
*Bring me the original Havenridge documents, or you will never see him again.*
My father stared at the photograph.
“Clara…”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman's voice came through.
My mother's.
“Hello, sweetheart.””
My knees almost gave out.
“Where is my son?””
“He's safe.””
“Let me speak to him.””
“You first.””
“Put Matthew on the phone.””
“No.””
“Mom, please.””
There was a pause.
Then I heard a tiny voice in the background.
“Mom?””
My whole world stopped.
“Matthew!””
“I’m here!””
He sounded terrified.
“Mom, I didn't—”
The call cut off.
I screamed into the phone.
“Mom!””
Nothing.
The line was dead.
My father grabbed my arm.
“Don't lose control.””
I turned on him.
“They have my son!””
“I know.””
“How do I get him back?””
My father stared at the folder on the table.
“The original documents.””
“What original documents?””
“The ones Julian hid.””
“I don't have them.””
My father looked at me.
“Yes, you do.””
I frowned.
“What?””
He pointed toward the photograph still in my hand.
“Look at the back.””
I turned it over.
There was a second line underneath the threat.
I had missed it in my panic.
Four words.
*Julian hid them inside.*
Inside what?
Then I noticed the final mark.
A tiny symbol.
A crescent moon.
The same symbol engraved on the wedding ring Julian had left in my safe.
I ran upstairs.
I grabbed the ring.
There was a thin seam around the inside of the band.
I had never noticed it.
I pressed against it.
The ring opened.
Inside was a tiny rolled strip of paper.
I pulled it free.
Only one sentence had been written on it.
*The truth about Havenridge is under the place where we said goodbye.*
I knew exactly where that was.
The cemetery.
And the moment I read the words, my phone lit up with another message.
*You have three hours, Clara.*
Below it was a photograph of Matthew sleeping in the back seat of a moving car.
May you like
And in the reflection of the window, I saw the face of the man driving.
Ethan Price.
