Chapter 2 - THE NOTE
The handwriting was Claire’s.
I knew it immediately.
“Who gave you this?”
“No one.”
“Then who wrote it?”
“I did.”
She looked terrified.
“I wrote it before you came.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn't know if I would get another chance.”
I folded the paper.
“Claire, start from the beginning.”
She stared at me.
“You remember when Ethan and I got married?”
“Yes.”
“He wasn't like this.”
“I know.”
“He was charming. Patient. He remembered everything about me. My favorite coffee. My mother's birthday. The name of my childhood dog.”
She paused.
“That was the man I married.”
“And then?”
“He started correcting little things.”
“What things?”
“My clothes. My friends. My spending. My work.”
I listened.
“He said he was protecting me.”
Her voice cracked.
“Then he started deciding who I could talk to.”
I clenched my jaw.
“And your mother?”
“She tried to warn me.”
I looked up.
“Your mother knew?”
“She suspected.”
Claire stared at the blanket.
“But Ethan convinced me she hated him.”
“Why?”
“Because he told me she was trying to destroy our marriage.”
I remembered those family dinners.
The tension.
The forced smiles.
Ethan always sitting beside Claire.
Always answering questions for her.
I had mistaken control for confidence.
That mistake would haunt me forever.
“Then came the money,” Claire said.
“What money?”
“He made me sign documents.”
“What documents?”
“I thought they were refinancing papers.”
My blood ran cold.
“What did you sign?”
“I don't know.”
“Claire.”
“I told you. I don't know.”
She began crying.
“I trusted him.”
I reached for her hand.
“This isn't your fault.”
“He said if I didn't cooperate, he'd make sure you lost everything.”
“What does that mean?”
“He knew about the investment account.”
I stared at her.
“What investment account?”
“The one Grandpa left you.”
I went silent.
That account had been private.
Very private.
Only three people knew about it.
Me.
My financial advisor.
And Claire.
“How did Ethan know?”
“I don't know.”
Claire looked toward the door.
“That’s what scares me.”
A knock came.
We both froze.
A nurse entered.
“Mr. Bennett?”
“Yes?”
“There’s a detective here who wants to speak with you.”
“Who?”
“Detective Morales.”
I looked at Claire.
She nodded.
“Go.”
I stepped into the hallway.
Detective Morales stood beside the elevators.
Late forties.
Calm eyes.
He handed me a business card.
“We recovered the recorder.”
“Did you listen to it?”
“Not yet. We’re processing it properly.”
“Why not just play it?”
“Because if it becomes evidence, we need to preserve the chain of custody.”
I appreciated that.
Then he lowered his voice.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Your son-in-law's phone.”
“What about it?”
“He received a message while we were at the house.”
“From who?”
“We don't know yet.”
“What did it say?”
Morales looked at me.
“‘Did she talk?’”
My stomach dropped.
“Who sent it?”
“We're investigating.”
“Can you arrest him?”
“We have enough to detain him. Whether charges stick depends on what the evidence shows.”
Then Morales pulled out another photograph.
It showed the shed.
Specifically, the interior wall.
There were scratches in the wood.
Dozens of them.
“What are those?”
Morales looked serious.
“Count them.”
I did.
Twenty-three.
“Twenty-three scratches.”
“Exactly.”
He turned the photograph around.
“Claire didn't make them.”
I stared at him.
“Then who did?”
“We don't know.”
He handed me another photo.
This one showed something carved beneath the scratches.
Three letters.
LIV
I looked at Morales.
“What does that mean?”
“We were hoping you could tell us.”
I couldn't.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A man's voice whispered:
“You should have stayed in Chicago.”
The call ended.
I stared at the screen.
Morales noticed my face.
“What happened?”
I looked at him.
“Someone just threatened me.”
His expression changed.
“Give me the phone.”
I handed it over.
He immediately began documenting the call.
Then my phone buzzed again.
A text appeared.
ASK YOUR DAUGHTER ABOUT LIV.
I turned toward Claire’s room.
May you like
For the first time, I wondered whether the man who locked my daughter in that shed was only one piece of something much larger.
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