Chapter 11 - THE TRAPThe room changed instantly.
I felt rage rise through me.
“Someone has been drugging my daughter?”
The doctor nodded.
“Low doses. Repeated exposure.”
Juniper was four.
Someone had been poisoning her.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Under the disguise of medical treatment.
I looked at Claire.
“Why didn't you know?”
She looked devastated.
“Because I wasn't there.”
“You left.”
“I was trying to survive.”
“And while you were hiding, someone was drugging our daughter.”
She flinched.
I regretted the words immediately.
Then Willa spoke.
“The medicine.”
We turned.
“What?”
“The old bottles.”
She opened Juniper's bag.
She had kept them.
Every empty inhaler.
Every prescription bottle.
Every refill.
The doctor examined them.
“Some of these prescriptions weren't issued by your daughter's physician.”
I stared.
“Whose name is on them?”
He showed me.
ORSON WHITMORE.
My father.
I felt something inside me break.
Then Juniper woke.
“Daddy?”
I rushed to her.
“I'm here.”
She reached for my hand.
“Is Mommy staying?”
I looked at Claire.
“Yes.”
Juniper smiled.
Then she whispered:
“Aunt Tabitha said you would be scared.”
I froze.
“What else did she say?”
“She said Grandpa has a room.”
“What room?”
“Where he keeps pictures of Mommy.”
Claire stepped forward.
“Where?”
Juniper pointed toward me.
“At Daddy's old house.”
My father's estate.
The room where my childhood memories lived.
A place I hadn't entered in years.
We drove there before dawn.
The estate was empty.
Too empty.
The front door was unlocked.
I pushed it open.
Dust covered the furniture.
But one hallway was spotless.
A new lock had been installed.
Claire whispered.
“That's it.”
I broke the lock.
Inside was a hidden archive.
Photographs.
Medical records.
Surveillance footage.
Files on every member of my family.
There were photos of Claire.
Pregnant.
At the hospital.
Holding Juniper.
There were photos of me.
Sleeping.
Driving.
Walking into my office.
Then I saw the wall at the far end.
It was covered in images of Juniper.
Hundreds.
Dates written underneath.
AGE 1.
AGE 2.
AGE 3.
And recent photos.
AGE 4.
I stepped closer.
The newest photo had been taken yesterday.
Juniper was asleep beside me.
The angle was from inside our bedroom.
Someone had been watching us.
Below the photograph was a note.
FINAL PHASE.
Then another line.
MAKE ETHAN BLAME TABITHA.
I felt sick.
Everything had been designed to make me hate my sister.
To make me distrust Claire.
To isolate me.
To make Juniper vulnerable.
Willa picked up a file.
“Ethan.”
I turned.
Her face was white.
“What?”
She handed me the document.
At the top was a name.
TABITHA WHITMORE
Beneath it:
STATUS: DECEASED
Date of death:
Tomorrow.
I stared at the page.
Tomorrow had not happened yet.
Then the estate lights turned on.
The doors locked automatically.
A voice came through the intercom.
May you like
My father's voice.
“You finally found my room.”
