Chapter 4 - THE ROOM BEHIND THE WALLI wanted to drive straight to the Whitmore penthouse.
Tessa took my car keys.
"No."
"He's got Helen!"
"And he wants you alone."
I reached for the keys.
"Tessa, give them to me."
She held my gaze.
"Claire, listen to what you're saying. Your husband assaulted you, his father threatened you, and now they're using a frightened woman to force you into a private meeting."
I knew she was right.
That didn't make standing still any easier.
"She's there because of me."
"No. She's there because Victor is controlling her."
Tessa called the police again.
This time, she spoke to a detective who agreed to meet us at the bank.
Detective Leah Ramirez arrived twenty-six minutes later.
She wore a charcoal blazer, carried a small notebook, and had the exhausted expression of someone who had already heard too many terrible stories that week.
She listened without interrupting.
Then she asked to see my injuries.
Tessa showed her the photographs she had taken that morning.
Ramirez examined my lip.
"Have you been medically evaluated?"
"Yes."
"Good. We'll request the records with your authorization."
I showed her the messages.
She photographed them and noted the numbers.
Then she examined the letter and notebook.
When she reached the photograph of my father, her expression changed.
"Where did this come from?"
"My mother's deposit box."
She studied Andrew's face.
"Are you certain this is your husband?"
"Yes."
She pointed at the background.
A warehouse sign appeared behind the sedan.
RIVERSIDE SERVICE ANNEX.
Ramirez wrote something down.
"This gives us a place to start."
"Can you arrest Victor?"
"Not based on what we have right now. But we can investigate the assault and Helen's disappearance immediately."
I leaned forward.
"He's holding her somewhere."
"Possibly. We need to establish where she is and whether she's being detained against her will."
I hated how careful she sounded.
I wanted certainty.
I wanted flashing lights outside the penthouse.
I wanted someone to tell me Helen was safe.
Instead, Ramirez asked us to preserve the original documents and avoid confronting the Whitmores.
Tessa arranged for copies to be made.
Then Ramirez requested permission to review my mother's notebook.
I agreed.
She had just reached the final page when another message arrived.
From Andrew.
You have two hours. After that, Dad stops being patient.
I showed Ramirez.
Her expression hardened.
"Don't answer yet."
She stepped into the hallway to make a call.
Tessa looked at me.
"We need the workshop."
I nodded.
"There's something in that basement."
"And somebody was already sent there."
I opened the security application on my phone.
My father had installed cameras at the workshop years before he died.
I had replaced them with a modern system after inheriting the property.
Three cameras.
Front entrance.
Rear alley.
Main workroom.
The footage loaded.
At 6:14 a.m., two men in dark jackets entered through the rear door.
One carried a crowbar.
The other held a flashlight.
They disappeared downstairs.
At 6:31 a.m., they emerged carrying a metal storage cabinet.
I gasped.
"They took something."
Tessa leaned closer.
"Keep watching."
The men loaded the cabinet into a white van.
Then one returned inside.
At 6:39 a.m., smoke began rising from the basement stairwell.
My stomach tightened.
"They set it on fire."
The fire alarm activated.
At 6:47, firefighters arrived.
The footage ended when the power failed.
I called the workshop's alarm company.
They confirmed a fire had been reported and extinguished.
The property had sustained smoke and water damage.
I hadn't received the alert because my phone had been switched off during the wedding and several notifications had failed to reach me afterward.
Ramirez returned.
I showed her the footage.
She watched the entire sequence.
Then she called another officer.
"Get a unit to this address. Possible arson. Preserve the surveillance footage."
I looked at Tessa.
"The north wall."
She nodded.
"Third brick beneath the ventilation grille."
We couldn't wait.
By noon, police had secured the workshop.
The fire had been contained to a storage room.
The basement walls remained intact.
Detective Ramirez met us outside.
"You can come in briefly, but don't touch anything until the scene technicians finish."
My father's workshop smelled like wet plaster and smoke.
The main floor was almost exactly as I remembered it.
Long wooden drafting tables.
Shelves filled with architectural models.
A faded photograph of my father beside his first restoration project.
I stopped in front of it.
For a moment, I was seventeen again.
Waiting for him to come home.
Tessa touched my shoulder.
"We can take a minute."
I shook my head.
"Not yet."
Downstairs, the basement lights were dead.
An officer illuminated the north wall.
The ventilation grille sat above a row of old red bricks.
The third brick had a small scratch near its edge.
I recognized the mark.
My father used to scratch tiny arrows into surfaces when he wanted to remember where something was hidden.
I pointed.
"That one."
A crime-scene technician photographed the wall and carefully removed the brick.
Behind it was a narrow cavity.
Inside sat a waterproof metal cylinder.
My heart began pounding.
The technician photographed it before removing it.
Ramirez put on gloves.
She opened the cylinder.
Inside was a folded piece of paper.
Nothing else.
She unfolded it.
I leaned closer.
My father's handwriting.
If Victor has reached this wall, he has already failed.
The proof is not in the building.
It never was.
Underneath was a sketch of a dress.
A wedding dress.
My mother's wedding dress.
The same dress I had altered and worn the night before.
I stared at the drawing.
Tessa whispered, "Claire."
I couldn't answer.
I remembered my mother insisting that I keep her gown.
Even after years of storage had yellowed the lace.
Even after I told her I might never get married.
She had smiled.
"Some things are worth keeping, sweetheart."
I had taken the dress to a seamstress six weeks before my wedding.
The seamstress had replaced the lining but preserved most of the original fabric.
I had worn it while Andrew struck me.
And when I left the hospital, I had changed into spare clothes before going to the bank.
The dress was still at my house.
The house where Andrew's men had already been.
I grabbed my phone.
Opened the security app.
Selected the living room camera.
And watched two men carry a long white garment bag out the front door.
My wedding dress.
Gone.
I turned toward Ramirez.
"They have it."
She looked at the screen.
Then her phone rang.
She answered.
Her expression changed as she listened.
"What hospital?"
A pause.
"When?"
Another pause.
She looked directly at me.
"Are you certain about the identification?"
My mouth went dry.
She ended the call.
"Claire, we found Helen."
"Where?"
"She's been admitted to another hospital under a different name."
I nearly collapsed with relief.
"Is she okay?"
Ramirez hesitated.
"She's alive."
"Then take me to her."
She looked at Tessa.
"We need to move quickly."
"Why?"
May you like
Ramirez answered quietly.
"Because somebody tried to kill her."
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