Chapter 2 - THE WINDOWFor one frozen second, Daniel and I stared at each other through the glass.
At least, I thought we did.
His face was angled directly toward me.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I crouched beneath the window.
Inside, Victoria shouted again.
“You think you can embarrass this family?”
Emily cried out.
Daniel said something too quietly for me to hear.
I pressed myself against the cold brick exterior.
My first instinct was to run.
My second was to call the police immediately.
Then I remembered Emily’s note.
You will understand everything.
Not help me.
Not call the police.
She had specifically wanted me to witness something.
I opened my phone camera.
Recording.
Carefully, I raised it just above the windowsill.
Emily was kneeling beside a coffee table.
A bowl lay shattered on the marble floor.
The same watery oatmeal.
Victoria stood above her.
Richard remained by the fireplace.
Daniel was between them.
“Tell her again,” Victoria demanded.
Emily shook her head.
Victoria grabbed her hair.
“Tell your brother what you told Dr. Bennett.”
Daniel crouched.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
“Emily. Look at me.”
She wouldn’t.
“Look at me.”
Slowly, she did.
“What did you tell him?”
“That I wanted to leave.”
“Leave what?”
“This house.”
Victoria laughed bitterly.
“This house? The home we provided after you destroyed your life?”
“I didn’t destroy anything.”
Richard finally spoke.
“That will be enough.”
Emily turned toward him.
“You forged my signature.”
My pulse stopped.
Daniel’s expression changed.
Not shock.
Recognition.
Emily continued.
“You transferred Grandmother’s trust.”
Victoria slapped her.
I nearly lunged through the window.
But Daniel caught his mother’s wrist.
“Enough.”
For half a second, hope flashed through me.
Then he turned toward Emily.
“You need to stop provoking her.”
The hope died.
Emily stared at him.
“You know they stole from me.”
“You don’t understand how the trust works.”
“I understand my own signature.”
Richard set his glass down.
“You understand nothing.”
Emily laughed.
It was broken and desperate.
“That’s why you keep me here, right?”
Victoria’s face tightened.
Emily looked at Daniel.
“That’s why you brought Claire.”
My blood went cold.
Daniel glanced toward the window again.
“She has nothing to do with this.”
“Yes, she does.”
“Emily.”
“She works in compliance.”
Daniel stood.
“Stop.”
“She can recognize financial fraud.”
“Stop talking.”
“You’re marrying someone whose entire career is finding people like Dad.”
Daniel grabbed Emily’s shoulders.
Hard.
My hand shook so badly I almost dropped the phone.
Then Emily screamed.
“ASK HIM ABOUT CEDAR HOUSE!”
Silence.
Even Victoria froze.
Richard’s face lost color.
Daniel leaned close.
“If you ever say that name again—”
A security light snapped on behind me.
I spun around.
Someone was crossing the lawn.
I ducked behind a hedge.
A man with a flashlight walked toward the side of the house.
Security.
I stopped recording and backed away.
A twig cracked under my shoe.
The flashlight swung toward me.
“Who’s there?”
I ran.
Branches scratched my face as I pushed through the hedge.
The guard shouted.
I reached the road.
My car was still several hundred yards away.
Behind me, the estate gate began opening.
I sprinted harder.
My lungs burned.
I reached my car, jumped inside, and locked the doors.
Headlights appeared behind me.
I started the engine.
Then my phone rang.
Daniel.
I stared at his name.
The ringing stopped.
Started again.
I drove.
A black SUV exited the Mercer property behind me.
My phone rang a third time.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Daniel said nothing for several seconds.
Then:
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
Silence.
I gripped the steering wheel.
“Why?”
“Because I thought I saw someone outside.”
My throat tightened.
“I’m in bed.”
“You sound out of breath.”
“I walked upstairs.”
Another silence.
The SUV remained behind me.
Daniel spoke softly.
“Claire?”
“Yes?”
“If Emily contacts you, tell me.”
“Why would she contact me?”
“She’s sick.”
“What kind of sick?”
He hesitated.
“Psychiatric.”
The SUV moved closer.
“She has episodes,” he continued. “Paranoia. Delusions. She accuses people of things.”
“Like what?”
“Things that never happened.”
I thought of the bruises.
The oatmeal.
The slap.
The trust.
“Was she ever diagnosed?”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
“Why are you interrogating me?”
“I’m not.”
His voice softened.
“I love you.”
My skin crawled.
“I love you too,” I lied.
“Good.”
The SUV turned away at the next intersection.
I exhaled.
Daniel said, “Sleep well.”
The call ended.
I drove straight to Nora’s apartment.
She opened the door wearing pajama pants and holding a baseball bat.
“What happened?”
I walked inside.
Then I started shaking.
Nora took the phone from me and watched the video.
She didn’t interrupt.
When it ended, she looked pale.
“We call the police.”
“I know.”
But I didn’t move.
“What?”
I replayed Emily’s final words.
Ask him about Cedar House.
“Nora, before we do anything, I need to know what Cedar House is.”
She stared at me.
“Claire, you just watched your fiancé restrain his bruised sister while his mother assaulted her.”
“I know.”
“So what could possibly be more important?”
“Whatever they’re terrified she’ll reveal.”
I searched the phrase.
Cedar House Massachusetts.
Nothing useful.
Cedar House Mercer.
Nothing.
Then I searched Richard Mercer businesses.
Dozens of results.
Mercer Holdings.
Mercer Development.
Private equity.
Real estate.
Philanthropic foundations.
Nora leaned over my shoulder.
“Wait.”
“What?”
She pointed.
An old news article.
MERCER FOUNDATION DONATES $4.2 MILLION TO CEDAR HOUSE WOMEN’S RECOVERY CENTER
The article was eleven years old.
Cedar House had been a private residential treatment facility.
For women.
Owned through a Mercer family charitable trust.
It closed seven years ago after an unexplained fire.
One patient died.
I clicked another article.
The dead woman’s name was Allison Grant.
Age twenty-nine.
The photo loaded slowly.
I stopped breathing.
I knew that face.
Not personally.
But I had seen it earlier that evening.
In the Mercer mansion.
A framed photograph stood on the piano behind Victoria.
Daniel had told me she was his cousin.
Except the article identified her differently.
Allison Grant, former financial assistant to Richard Mercer.
Nora whispered, “Claire.”
I kept reading.
Before the fire, Allison had reportedly contacted investigators regarding “financial irregularities.”
The inquiry disappeared after her death.
My stomach turned.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One text.
YOU WERE SEEN.
A second message appeared.
DO NOT GO HOME.
Then a third.
THEY’RE COMING FOR YOUR PHONE.
Nora looked at me.
“Who sent that?”
Before I could answer, someone knocked on her apartment door.
Three slow knocks.
Nora gripped the baseball bat.
I looked through the peephole.
Daniel stood in the hallway.
Smiling.
He raised one hand.
In the other, he held my apartment keys.
May you like
“Claire?” he called gently.
“I know you’re in there.”
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