Chapter 8 - Beneath the HouseI spent twenty minutes freeing one hand.
The bedframe had a sharp metal edge.
I cut through the rope slowly.
My wrist bled.
I didn’t care.
I opened the bedroom door.
The hallway was empty.
I moved quietly downstairs.
The house was silent.
Too silent.
I found the basement door.
Locked.
The three knocks came again.
I searched the kitchen.
Found a knife.
Then an old iron key hanging beside the pantry.
It fit.
The door opened.
Cold air rushed upward.
I descended the stairs.
“Hello?”
No answer.
Three knocks.
From behind the wall.
I touched the brick.
Nothing.
Then I noticed one stone looked newer than the others.
I pulled it.
A hidden panel opened.
Behind it was a narrow room.
And inside sat a man.
Older.
Gray hair.
Thin.
Alive.
I stopped.
“Thomas Hawthorne?”
He looked at me.
“Yes.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“You’re supposed to be dead.”
“I was supposed to be.”
“Who did this?”
“My family.”
He pointed to a chair.
“Sit.”
I did not.
“What happened to Ryan?”
“Still alive.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Patricia needs him.”
“For what?”
Thomas looked at me.
“To finish what she started twenty years ago.”
I stepped closer.
“My father.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me the truth.”
Thomas sighed.
“Your father discovered that Patricia and I had been moving company money through shell corporations.”
“Then why did he trust Ryan?”
“He didn’t.”
“What?”
“He trusted the wrong person.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who?”
Thomas pointed upward.
“Your mother.”
I shook my head.
“My mother would never…”
“Your mother helped Patricia.”
I felt the room tilt.
“No.”
“Your father discovered it.”
“What happened?”
“Your mother begged him not to expose her.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Then ask her.”
I stepped back.
Thomas continued.
“The night your father died, he was driving to meet Daniel Mercer.”
“Daniel was there.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To warn him.”
“About my mother?”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“About Ryan.”
I went still.
“What about him?”
“Your father discovered Ryan had accessed the company records.”
“He was eighteen.”
“And very intelligent.”
“You said he wasn’t involved.”
“I said your father trusted the wrong person.”
I backed away.
“Where is Ryan now?”
Thomas pointed toward a small monitor.
The screen showed a room.
Ryan was sitting in a chair.
Alive.
Bruised.
And Patricia was standing behind him.
I moved closer.
Then Patricia turned toward the camera.
She smiled.
“You wanted answers.”
The screen flickered.
Her voice continued.
“Come upstairs.”
I stared.
“How?”
Thomas whispered:
“She wants you to sign.”
The video ended.
I looked at him.
“What happens if I do?”
He hesitated.
“You lose everything.”
“What if I refuse?”
May you like
He looked at the ceiling.
“Then Ryan dies.”
