Chapter 4: Six Weeks Ago
The darkness swallowed the dining room.
For one heartbeat, nobody moved.
Then Noah screamed upstairs.
“Grandpa!””
I dropped the photograph.
“I’m coming!””
I ran toward the staircase, but Mark grabbed my arm.
“Dad, wait.””
I yanked free.
“My grandson is upstairs.””
“I know, but you can’t go up there in the dark.””
“I can.””
I took two steps.
Something crashed in the kitchen.
Claudia gasped.
Margaret shouted, “Who’s there?””
I stopped.
The house was silent again.
Then my phone vibrated in my hand.
My attorney.
I answered.
“Richard, are you still there?””
“Yes.””
“Do not move.””
“Someone may be inside the house.””
“I know.””
“How do you know?””
“Because I’m looking at your security feed.””
I stared toward the hallway.
“What?””
“Your exterior cameras went offline seven minutes ago.””
My skin prickled.
“Seven minutes?””
“Yes. Someone disabled them remotely.””
I looked at Mark.
He was standing near the table, breathing hard.
“Could Claudia do that?””
My attorney said, “That depends. Who has access to your security system?””
I looked at my son.
“Mark.””
He lifted his hands.
“I don't know the password.””
I stared at him.
“You installed the system.””
“Your security company changed everything after the upgrade.””
“Who got the new credentials?””
He hesitated.
“Dad…”
“Who?””
“I don’t remember.””
A soft creak came from upstairs.
Noah cried again.
“Grandpa!””
I ran.
This time Mark followed.
We climbed the staircase in total darkness, guided only by the pale glow of my phone.
The hallway outside Noah’s bedroom was empty.
I pushed open the door.
“I'm here.””
Noah sat upright beneath the blanket, crying.
Margaret was beside him.
“What happened?””
“I heard the door,” Margaret whispered.
“What door?””
“The back stairs.””
I turned.
My house had two staircases.
The main staircase where we stood.
And a narrow servants' staircase leading from the basement to the second floor.
Nobody used it anymore.
I stepped into the hallway.
“Mark.””
“Yes?””
“Stay with Noah.””
He nodded.
I walked toward the servants' staircase.
Behind me, Mark said, “Dad, don't.””
I kept going.
At the top step, I stopped.
There was a wet footprint on the floor.
Not a child's.
A man's shoe.
Fresh snow clung to the heel.
I crouched.
Another footprint followed.
Then another.
They disappeared around the corner.
I heard something.
A drawer opening.
I moved silently toward my study.
The door was half open.
Light from the emergency hallway lamps flickered through the crack.
I pushed it wider.
My filing cabinet stood open.
The bottom drawer was pulled out.
Papers covered the floor.
The same drawer where I kept the original trust documents.
I stepped inside.
Nothing moved.
Then I saw the desk.
My laptop was gone.
So was the small black lockbox I kept beneath it.
I touched the empty space.
My attorney was still on the phone.
“Richard?””
“They’re here.””
“Who?””
“Someone took my laptop.””
Silence.
Then he said, “Leave the study.””
I picked up a single sheet of paper from the floor.
It was one of my old trust statements.
Someone had circled several transactions in red.
Every circle marked a withdrawal.
Every withdrawal had happened after Mark gained access to my accounts.
But there was something else.
A handwritten note at the bottom.
*He never checks the old account.*
I stared at it.
“Richard?””
“I found a note.””
“Photograph it.””
I raised my phone.
Before I could take the picture, a floorboard creaked behind me.
I spun around.
The doorway was empty.
Then a voice came from the corridor.
“Dad?””
Mark.
I exhaled.
“What are you doing?””
“Checking on you.””
“Where's Noah?””
“With Margaret.””
I looked at him.
His shirt was wrinkled.
His face was pale.
“Come here.””
He stepped inside.
I held up the paper.
“Have you seen this?””
He shook his head.
“No.””
“Do you know who wrote it?””
“No.””
“Then tell me what happened six weeks ago.””
He looked away.
“Dad…”
“Not another lie.””
“I haven't lied to you.””
“Then tell me.””
He rubbed his forehead.
“I made a mistake.””
“What kind?””
“A financial mistake.””
“What did you do?””
He sat in the chair opposite my desk.
“I borrowed money.””
“From whom?””
“A private lender.””
“Why?””
“To cover the business.””
“How much?””
“Four hundred thousand.””
I stared at him.
“You borrowed four hundred thousand dollars?””
“Yes.””
“Against what?””
He said nothing.
“Against what, Mark?””
He whispered, “The business.””
“That's not possible. The business was already leveraged.””
“I thought I could turn it around.””
“You couldn't.””
“No.””
I walked toward him.
“Who was the lender?””
He swallowed.
“Daniel.””
I stopped.
“Daniel Voss?””
He nodded.
My attorney was silent on the phone.
I heard him breathe.
“Mark,” I said slowly, “what did you sign?””
“A repayment agreement.””
“What did he demand?””
“Interest.””
“How much?””
“Twenty percent.””
My jaw tightened.
“Twenty percent?””
“Monthly.””
I stared at him.
“That isn't a loan.””
“I know.””
“That is extortion.””
“I was desperate.””
“You were supposed to come to me.””
“I was ashamed.””
“So instead you borrowed from a man who created a shell company three days before stealing money from your son's trust?””
Mark shot to his feet.
“I didn't know about the trust!””
“Then how did Daniel get access?””
“I don't know.””
“Did you give him anything?””
“No.””
“Did you give him copies of my financial documents?””
Mark froze.
That was answer enough.
“You did.””
“I gave him business records.””
“Which included?””
“Tax returns.””
“Bank statements?””
“Yes.””
“Trust information?””
“I don't know.””
“Think.””
Mark closed his eyes.
“I might have.””
I stared at him.
“Might have?””
“I was desperate.””
I turned away.
For years, I had believed my son's greatest weakness was poor judgment.
I was beginning to understand that it was something worse.
He had learned to hide consequences until somebody else had to pay them.
I heard footsteps in the hallway.
Claudia appeared.
“Mark.””
He turned.
“What?””
“We need to talk.””
“Not now.””
“Yes. Now.””
She looked at me.
Then at the paper in my hand.
“Did you tell him?””
Mark's face hardened.
“No.””
I stepped between them.
“Tell me what?””
Claudia said nothing.
“Tell me.””
Mark looked at her.
She shook her head.
“Don't.””
“What don't I know?””
Mark closed his eyes.
“Six weeks ago,” he said quietly, “Daniel came to the house.””
Claudia's expression changed.
“Mark.””
“He came while Dad was away.””
I looked at her.
“Why?””
Mark's voice cracked.
“He said he could make the debt disappear.””
“And?””
“He wanted something.””
“What?””
Mark looked at the floor.
“Access.””
“To what?””
“Your accounts.””
The words hit me harder than the blackout.
I stared at him.
“You gave him access to my accounts?””
“No.””
“Then what did you give him?””
Mark looked toward Claudia.
She answered.
“My laptop.””
I blinked.
“What?””
“I gave Daniel the laptop.””
“Why?””
“Because he said he needed to verify a financial file.””
I stared at her.
“You gave a stranger my laptop?””
“I thought it only contained business information.””
“My laptop had access to everything.””
“I didn't know.””
“You knew enough to hand it over.””
She started crying.
Actual tears.
But I had stopped trusting tears.
“Where is the laptop now?””
She shook her head.
“I don't know.””
“Then why was it taken tonight?””
“I don't know.””
My attorney suddenly spoke.
“Richard.””
I raised the phone.
“Yes?””
“I found something.””
“What?””
“The laptop connected to your network thirteen minutes ago.””
My heart jumped.
“From where?””
He answered:
“Your basement.””
I looked toward the hallway.
Claudia stopped crying.
Mark went rigid.
“No one is supposed to be down there,” he said.
I moved toward the door.
My attorney shouted, “Richard, do not go downstairs.””
I ignored him.
Mark followed.
“Dad.””
“Stay back.””
The basement door was closed.
I reached for the handle.
A faint blue light glowed beneath it.
Electronic equipment.
Someone was inside.
I slowly opened the door.
The basement was dark except for the glow of a computer screen.
My stolen laptop sat on an old worktable.
The screen displayed my trust account.
A transfer window was open.
The amount field contained:
*$1,200,000.00*
The destination account was already entered.
My hand went numb.
Mark whispered behind me.
“Dad…”
I stepped closer.
A shadow moved behind the furnace.
I turned sharply.
“Who's there?””
Nothing.
Then the basement door slammed shut behind us.
Mark grabbed the handle.
“It’s locked.””
I reached for my phone.
No signal.
The computer screen suddenly changed.
A message appeared.
*YOU SHOULD HAVE GIVEN US THE HOUSE.*
Then another line appeared beneath it.
*NOW WE TAKE EVERYTHING.*
Mark stared at the screen.
“I didn't do this.””
“I know.””
He looked at me.
“How?””
I pointed toward the bottom of the screen.
There was a live video feed.
A camera showed the main hallway upstairs.
Claudia was standing there.
She looked directly into the camera.
Then she turned toward the lens and whispered three words.
“I'm sorry, Dad.””
My blood ran cold.
Because Claudia wasn't upstairs alone.
May you like
A tall man in a dark coat was standing behind her.
And he was holding Noah in his arms.
