Chapter 8 - The Woman in the VideoWe destroyed the screen.
Quinn pulled the power.
It didn't matter.
The images continued on his phone.
Then on Nathan's.
Then mine.
The files were everywhere.
My father's plan had begun before we even understood it.
Federal investigators were coming.
Evidence existed.
But fake evidence existed too.
And fake evidence traveled faster.
“We leave now,” Quinn said.
“Where?”
“Somewhere your father can't predict.”
My mother shook her head.
“He already knows.”
“Then we make him think we're doing something else.”
Nathan looked at me.
“Where would Grandpa hide something?”
I thought.
“The church.”
Quinn frowned.
“What church?”
“The old chapel near the harbor.”
My grandfather used to take me there.
He told me the best hiding places were always places people stopped looking at.
We drove there before dawn.
The chapel was empty.
Rain covered the stained-glass windows.
Nathan checked the basement.
Nothing.
My mother searched the pews.
Nothing.
Quinn examined the walls.
Then he looked at me.
“You said your grandfather took you here.”
“Yes.”
“What did he teach you?”
I remembered.
“Latin.”
Quinn smiled faintly.
“Of course.”
He found a brass plaque near the altar.
Latin words engraved beneath a cross.
My grandfather had taught me to read them.
Not because he was religious.
Because he loved old codes.
I translated.
TRUTH IS THE DOOR.
There was a second line.
BUT THE KEY BELONGS TO THE BLOOD OF MERCER.
I looked at the brass key.
I inserted it into a tiny slot beneath the plaque.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside was a memory card.
And a photograph.
The photograph showed my grandfather with Quinn.
But there was another person.
A woman.
Young.
Dark hair.
My mother stared at it.
She stopped breathing.
“Who is she?”
Mother took the photograph.
Her hands shook.
“Your aunt.”
I looked at her.
“I don't have an aunt.”
“You did.”
“What happened?”
My mother looked away.
“She died.”
“When?”
“Before you were born.”
Quinn studied the photograph.
“What's her name?”
“Eleanor.”
Nathan frowned.
“Why don't we have any pictures of her?”
My mother didn't answer.
I took the memory card.
Quinn inserted it into a secure reader.
A video loaded.
My grandfather appeared.
This time, he looked frightened.
“If Martin has reached this recording, Eleanor was right.”
I leaned toward the screen.
“Right about what?”
Grandfather continued.
“Martin is not acting alone.”
My mother's face changed.
“He has help from someone inside our family.”
The recording paused.
Then continued.
“The person helping him is the one you would trust first.”
Nathan looked at my mother.
I looked at Nathan.
Quinn looked at me.
The video ended.
We were silent.
“Who do we trust first?” Nathan asked.
No one answered.
Then a voice came from the chapel doorway.
“Me.”
We turned.
A woman stood there.
Gray hair.
Dark coat.
Wet from the rain.
My mother dropped the photograph.
The woman looked directly at her.
“It's been a long time.”
My mother whispered one word.
“Eleanor.”
Nathan's mouth fell open.
I stared.
The woman smiled sadly.
“Hello, Claire.”
My heart began pounding.
My aunt was alive.
And she had been standing just outside our family story for twenty-six years.
She walked toward us.
“I came because your father is about to kill someone.”
“Who?”
She looked at Nathan.
Then at me.
Then my mother.
“Me.”
May you like
A gunshot exploded through the chapel window.
Eleanor fell.
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