Chapter 6 - THE NIGHT SOMEONE ENTERED THE NURSERY
Patricia refused to speak until the girls were asleep.
I wanted to force her.
Clara stopped me.
"Let her talk."
I looked at Patricia.
"Start."
She sat at the table.
"I worked for Victor."
The admission landed hard.
"For how long?"
"Four years."
"Why?"
"Because he threatened my son."
I stared.
"You have a son?"
She nodded.
"His name is Michael. He's twenty-two."
"What happened?"
"Victor arranged an accident when Michael was seventeen. He survived. After that, Victor owned me."
I lowered the gun.
"Why target my daughters?"
"I didn't."
"Then who?"
"Victor."
"Why?"
"Because your father left behind something worth more than money."
"What?"
Patricia looked at Clara.
"The Calloway Ledger."
I frowned.
"What's that?"
"Your father's private record."
She explained.
Every illegal payment.
Every politician.
Every judge.
Every police officer.
Every partner.
Everything.
A record capable of destroying powerful people.
"Where is it?"
"Your father hid it."
"Where?"
Patricia shook her head.
"Only Madeline knew."
I thought about the video.
Then I remembered the photograph.
The bedroom.
The blue lamp.
The wedding portrait.
I stood.
"Madeline hid it in the house."
Patricia nodded.
"That's what Victor believes."
"Why didn't he find it?"
"Because he doesn't know what she used."
I went upstairs.
Clara followed.
We entered Madeline's room.
I stared at everything.
Her perfume.
Her books.
Her jewelry.
Her photographs.
Then I noticed something.
The wedding portrait.
I removed it from the wall.
Behind it was a small indentation.
I pressed.
The wall clicked.
A compartment opened.
Inside was a metal box.
I opened it.
There was no ledger.
Only a key.
And a photograph of Madeline holding Avery and Sophie.
On the back:
They are the key.
My blood ran cold.
Clara whispered.
"She didn't mean literally."
I turned the photograph over.
Underneath it was a second message.
The girls remember what you forgot.
I stared.
"What?"
Clara looked toward the bedroom door.
"When Madeline was alive, she used to tell them stories."
"What kind?"
"Stories about a blue house."
I remembered.
Madeline had once asked me to take the girls to a place outside Houston.
I had refused because of work.
She never asked again.
"Where is the blue house?"
Patricia answered from the doorway.
"I know."
We drove there before sunrise.
It was an abandoned property near Galveston.
A small blue cottage overlooking the water.
Inside, everything was dusty.
But there were children's drawings on the walls.
Avery.
Sophie.
Madeline.
And a fourth name.
Mia.
I stared.
"Who's Mia?"
Clara looked at Patricia.
Patricia whispered:
"Madeline's sister."
I felt the room tilt.
"My wife had a sister."
"Yes."
"Where is she?"
Patricia's eyes filled with tears.
"She's alive."
Then the front door slammed.
Gunshots shattered the windows.
I grabbed Clara and pulled her down.
Patricia screamed.
A bullet struck the wall.
Daniel shouted into his radio.
"Multiple shooters!"
I looked at the girls.
They were not there.
My heart stopped.
"Where are my daughters?"
Clara's face went white.
"They were in the car."
We ran outside.
The car was empty.
On the windshield was a note.
Bring the ledger.
My hands shook.
May you like
Underneath the note was another line.
Or your daughters disappear like their mother did.
