CHAPTER 5: THE WOMAN WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD
Arthur lowered the phone slowly.
No one in the underground chamber spoke.
The silence felt heavier than the concrete ceiling above them.
Marcus broke it first.
"Can we trace the call?"
One of the technicians, who had hurried down with portable equipment, shook his head.
"It lasted less than six seconds."
"Routed through multiple encrypted servers."
"Professional."
Arthur wasn't listening.
His eyes remained fixed on the voice recorder.
Claire didn't die by accident.
The sentence echoed inside his head again and again.
Impossible.
For ten years he had carried the guilt.
He had replayed that day thousands of times.
The rain.
The winding mountain road.
The police report.
The crushed SUV at the bottom of the ravine.
The funeral.
He had believed every word.
Until tonight.
Back upstairs...
Dr. Lawson finally managed to wake Margaret.
She winced as pain shot through her head.
"Emily..."
Her first word.
Not "Where am I?"
Not "What happened?"
Just Emily.
Arthur hurried into the medical room.
"What do you remember?"
Margaret closed her eyes, forcing herself to think.
"I was examining the bruises on Emily's wrists."
"She kept looking toward the door."
"Like she expected someone."
Arthur leaned closer.
"Then what?"
"There was a knock."
"Three times."
Marcus exchanged a glance with Arthur.
Three knocks.
The same pattern they had heard behind the nursery wall.
Margaret continued.
"I opened the door."
"No one was there."
"I turned around..."
She touched the bandage on her forehead.
"...and something hit me."
"What?"
"I don't know."
"I never saw the person."
Arthur frowned.
"You never heard footsteps?"
Margaret shook her head.
"No."
"They moved quietly."
"Too quietly."
Meanwhile...
Victoria stood alone in the mansion's west corridor.
Her breathing was uneven.
Her hands trembled.
She looked over both shoulders before pulling a tiny burner phone from inside her robe.
She dialed a memorized number.
One ring.
Two.
Someone answered.
Victoria whispered urgently,
"Everything has gone wrong."
No response.
"They found the tunnel."
Silence.
"They recovered part of the basement footage."
Still silence.
Victoria's voice cracked.
"You promised the recordings were destroyed."
Finally...
The voice answered.
Cold.
Emotionless.
"I promised to erase the cameras."
"I never promised to erase the truth."
Victoria froze.
"What does that mean?"
Click.
The call ended.
She stared at the phone.
For the first time all night...
She looked genuinely afraid.
Arthur returned to the security room.
The recovered basement footage played once more.
This time he wasn't watching the blurry silhouette.
He was watching Emily.
Frame by frame.
Something caught his eye.
He paused the video.
Zoomed in.
Emily wasn't looking at the woman.
She was staring behind her.
At someone else.
Marcus noticed it too.
"There were two people."
Arthur nodded slowly.
"The woman distracted Emily."
"The second person stayed outside the camera."
Marcus replayed the clip.
Just before the image cut to static...
A reflection appeared in the polished metal door.
Only for half a second.
Blurry.
Distorted.
But visible.
A man's outline.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Wearing gloves.
Marcus enlarged the frame.
The face remained impossible to identify.
But one detail stood out.
On the man's left wrist...
A distinctive silver watch.
Arthur's expression changed instantly.
He knew that watch.
He had seen it before.
Many times.
At dawn...
Every employee had been questioned.
Every room searched.
Still no Emily.
Frustration spread through the mansion.
Marcus approached Arthur.
"Sir."
"What?"
"We've searched ninety-eight percent of the property."
Arthur looked up.
"Ninety-eight?"
Marcus hesitated.
"There's one room we haven't opened."
Arthur frowned.
"Why?"
"Because only you have the key."
Arthur blinked.
"What room?"
Marcus answered quietly.
"Mrs. Claire Carter's private studio."
Arthur hadn't entered it in ten years.
After Claire's funeral, he had locked the room himself.
No one had gone inside since.
Or so he believed.
The key felt strangely heavy in Arthur's hand.
Dust covered the old wooden door.
He inserted the key.
Turned it.
The lock clicked.
The door creaked open.
Sunlight filtered through lace curtains.
Everything remained exactly as Claire had left it.
Paintbrushes.
Half-finished canvases.
Books.
A teacup still resting beside the window.
Time had frozen.
Arthur stepped inside slowly.
His chest tightened.
Then he stopped.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
One painting was missing.
A large rectangular space on the wall remained noticeably cleaner than the surrounding wallpaper.
Someone had removed it recently.
Marcus examined the floor.
"No dust."
"It wasn't taken years ago."
"It was taken within days."
Arthur searched the room carefully.
A drawer stood slightly open.
Inside...
A leather journal.
Claire's handwriting.
Arthur recognized it instantly.
He opened the first page.
Most entries described ordinary family life.
Emily's first words.
Family vacations.
Anniversaries.
Then the final pages changed.
The handwriting became hurried.
Uneven.
Fearful.
One entry made Arthur's blood run cold.
"If anything happens to me, it was not an accident. Someone inside this house wants me dead."
Arthur turned the page.
Another entry.
"I finally know who has been entering Emily's room at night."
The next page had been torn out.
Then another.
Five consecutive pages were missing.
Arthur looked at the torn edges.
Fresh.
Not yellow with age.
Someone had removed them recently.
Marcus whispered,
"Whoever took the painting..."
"...also took the missing pages."
Arthur closed the journal carefully.
His phone vibrated.
A new message.
Unknown sender.
No number.
Only a photograph.
Arthur opened it.
His heart stopped.
Emily.
Alive.
She sat in a dimly lit room, clutching her stuffed rabbit.
A newspaper lay beside her.
Today's date was clearly visible.
The photo had been taken minutes earlier.
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Across the image, someone had written a single sentence in red:
"If you want your daughter back... ask Victoria what really happened the night Claire died."
