Chapter 10 - The First WifeSerena hit the ground.
I dropped beside her.
Blood spread across her sleeve.
“Serena!”
She stared at me.
“I’m okay.”
The bullet had grazed her upper arm.
The officer pulled us behind a stone marker.
A second shot hit the ground.
“Move!”
We ran between graves.
The cemetery was silent except for footsteps and distant engines.
Then a woman's voice echoed through the darkness.
“Stop.”
Marianne stepped into the light.
Tall.
Dark-haired.
Calm.
She looked almost exactly like our father.
Same eyes.
Same jaw.
Same expression of permanent judgment.
She held a gun.
But she wasn't pointing it at me.
She pointed it at Serena.
“You betrayed me.”
Serena stood slowly.
“I was trying to save Lucy.”
“You were trying to save yourself.”
Marianne looked at me.
“You have no idea what your family did.”
“Then tell me.”
She smiled.
“Your mother stole everything from mine.”
“That isn't my fault.”
“No.”
Her voice softened.
“That is why you were useful.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
She lowered the gun.
“Your mother spent years believing she could keep me hidden.”
I stared.
“She paid people to erase my records.”
“Why?”
“Because your father chose her.”
“That doesn't explain any of this.”
Marianne stepped closer.
“When Clara became inconvenient, Richard built a new life with Evelyn.”
“Evelyn was my mother.”
“Yes.”
“Did she know?”
“She knew everything.”
The answer shattered something inside me.
“My mother helped you?”
Marianne laughed.
“No.”
“She tried to stop us.”
“Us?”
“Your father. Me. Vance.”
I looked toward the sheriff’s deputy.
He had his weapon drawn.
Marianne said:
“Vance worked for my father before he worked for the county.”
The officer beside me looked sick.
Then the cemetery lights turned on.
Every lamp.
Every floodlight.
Dozens of them.
We saw people standing beyond the graves.
Farmers.
Widows.
Former employees.
People who had disappeared from town years ago.
Alive.
They had been watching.
Marianne lowered her gun.
“This is what your husband built.”
She pointed toward them.
“A private network.”
I looked at Serena.
She whispered:
“I told you.”
Marianne continued.
“Dennis was never the architect.”
“Then who was?”
She smiled.
“Your father.”
“But he's dead.”
“Dead men can leave instructions.”
She pointed toward the family crypt.
Inside was a metal door.
She opened it.
We followed.
Beneath the cemetery was another room.
Another archive.
Another secret.
And on the wall were names.
Not farmers.
Judges.
Lawyers.
Police officers.
Bank managers.
Politicians.
Business owners.
The entire county was there.
The officer beside me whispered:
“How many?”
Marianne answered:
“Enough.”
Then she opened a final file.
Inside was a photograph of Meadow.
Taken that night.
Marianne placed it on the table.
“Your daughter is alive.”
“Where?”
“Close.”
“Bring her to me.”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
Marianne looked at me.
“Because Dennis isn't the one holding her.”
I felt my heart stop.
“Then who is?”
Marianne smiled sadly.
“You.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“You've been carrying the key since your mother died.”
She pointed at my pocket.
“The brass key.”
I pulled it out.
Marianne shook her head.
“That doesn't open a door.”
“What does it open?”
“A box.”
“What box?”
She leaned closer.
“The one your father buried before he died.”
I stared at her.
“Where?”
She whispered:
“Under your daughter's hospital bed.”
My blood froze.
Then the lights went out.
Someone screamed.
And when they came back on, Marianne was gone.
So was Serena.
Only one thing remained on the table.
May you like
A note.
YOU HAVE ONE HOUR TO FIND THE BOX.
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