Chapter 6 - Harrison pulled me behind the kitchen island.Glass covered the floor.
Sloan dropped beside us.
The gun was still in her hand.
“Who are they?” I whispered.
Harrison shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“You said you were protecting me.”
“I was.”
“From who?”
He looked toward the shattered window.
“They know you have the box.”
Another shot struck the wall.
The three of us froze.
Then Harrison grabbed my wrist.
“There's another exit.”
He pulled me toward the pantry.
I had lived in this house for thirty years.
I knew every room.
Every hallway.
Every creaking floorboard.
But I had never known there was a second exit behind my pantry.
Harrison pushed aside a shelf.
A narrow door appeared.
“Thomas built this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“For emergencies.”
We entered.
The passage smelled like dust and old wood.
Sloan followed.
Harrison closed the door.
Darkness swallowed us.
I whispered:
“You knew about this.”
“I knew some of it.”
“And you still moved into my house?”
His voice was barely audible.
“I needed access.”
“To what?”
He didn't answer.
We reached a small room beneath the garage.
There were shelves.
Water.
Blankets.
A radio.
And several locked cases.
Harrison turned on a lamp.
I stared at him.
“Explain.”
He rubbed his face.
“I didn't steal your money because I wanted luxury.”
“Then why?”
“Because we needed to keep something hidden.”
“What?”
He looked at Sloan.
She nodded.
Harrison opened one of the cases.
Inside were folders.
Names.
Bank numbers.
Photographs.
Dates.
One photograph stopped me.
It showed Daniel Price.
Alive.
Standing beside Thomas.
There was another man beside them.
His face had been blacked out.
“Who is that?”
Harrison didn't answer.
I looked closer.
The man was wearing a police badge.
I froze.
“That’s a police officer.”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
Harrison swallowed.
“Detective Raymond Cole.”
I knew the name.
Cole had investigated Thomas's death.
He had been one of the officers who came to my house the night Thomas died.
Harrison stared at me.
“Dad's death wasn't natural.”
My mouth went dry.
“What?”
“He didn't die from the heart attack.”
I shook my head.
“The doctors said—”
“The doctors were wrong.”
“Then what killed him?”
Harrison looked at the floor.
“Poison.”
The word barely registered.
My husband had been murdered?
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because the person who did it was still alive.”
“Who?”
Harrison looked at me.
“We don't know.”
Sloan suddenly moved toward the radio.
“It’s happening again.”
“What?”
She pointed at the speaker.
Static.
Then three short clicks.
Harrison's face changed.
“What does that mean?”
“Someone is signaling.”
“Who?”
Before he could answer, the radio emitted a voice.
A calm male voice.
“Evelyn Bennett.”
I nearly screamed.
The voice continued.
“You have until midnight.”
Harrison stepped toward the radio.
“Who are you?”
“Your father left something in that house.”
“I have it.”
The voice laughed.
“No. You have part of it.”
Then the signal ended.
I turned toward Harrison.
“What does he mean?”
Harrison opened another folder.
Inside was a list.
At the top:
THE FINAL ACCOUNT.
Beneath it were three items.
The trust.
The property.
The beneficiary.
I looked at the last line.
There was a handwritten note beside it.
NOT HARRISON.
My heart sank.
“Who is the beneficiary?”
Harrison didn't answer.
I grabbed the paper.
At the bottom was a name.
A name I had never seen before.
Claire Bennett.
I stared at it.
“Who is Claire?”
Harrison went pale.
Sloan looked at him.
“You didn't tell her?”
“No.”
“Tell me.”
Harrison slowly sat down.
“Claire was my sister.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“My sister.”
“You have no sister.”
“She was born before you married Dad.”
“That isn't possible.”
“I know.”
“Then who is Claire?”
Harrison looked at me.
“Your daughter.”
The room stopped moving.
I stared at him.
“You're lying.”
“She was taken from the hospital.”
My breath caught.
“What did you say?”
“Your daughter was born twenty-nine years ago.”
I shook my head.
I remembered having one child.
Harrison.
That was all.
Harrison opened another file.
There was a birth certificate.
My name.
Thomas's name.
Female child.
Mother: Evelyn Bennett.
Father: Thomas Bennett.
The date was twenty-nine years ago.
My hands began to shake.
“No.”
Sloan whispered:
“Her name was changed.”
“To what?”
Harrison looked at the file.
“Claire Reynolds.”
I stared at him.
“Where is she?”
He didn't answer.
“Where is my daughter?”
Then footsteps sounded above us.
Someone had found the hidden door.
May you like
And Harrison whispered:
“They found us.”
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