Chapter 12 - The Ghost of Elena’s Past
We sat around the small wooden table,
the light of the fire the only thing illuminating the grim faces of the adults in the room.
The boys were outside under the watchful eye of a security camera Mark had mounted on a tree,
playing a quiet game of tag in the clearing.
Mark reached for the diaper bag and dumped its contents onto the table.
Diapers,
wipes,
the pink blanket,
and a small,
wooden music box that I hadn't noticed before.
"Where did this come from?"
Mark asked,
holding up the music box.
"It was in the box in the garage,"
James said,
his voice hollow.
"Elena sent it to me three years ago."
"She said it was for 'the daughter we’d eventually have.'"
"I thought it was just a sentimental gift."
Mark examined the bottom of the box,
running his fingers along the seams.
He pulled a small pocket knife from his belt and carefully pried at the velvet lining.
With a soft click,
a hidden compartment popped open.
Inside was a small,
silver flash drive and a handwritten note.
For the one who survives,
it read.
Mark plugged the drive into his laptop,
his fingers flying across the keys.
The screen lit up with columns of numbers,
dates,
and names.
"It’s a ledger,"
Mark whispered,
his face turning pale.
"Not just a ledger of debts,
but a ledger of payoffs."
"Judges,
police chiefs,
senators."
"Julian Vane wasn't just running a ring;
he was keeping the books for half the power players on the East Coast."
"And Elena had the only copy."
I looked at the screen,
the names blurring before my eyes.
"This is why she couldn't go to the police,"
I said,
the realization hitting me.
"The police were on the list."
"Exactly,"
Mark said.
"She knew if she turned this in,
she’d be dead before she reached the courthouse."
"She was waiting for the right moment,
waiting for someone she could trust."
"And she chose us,"
James said,
his voice filled with a sudden,
unearned pride.
"She didn't choose us,
James,"
I snapped,
turning on him.
"She chose the only place she thought Julian wouldn't look."
"She chose a boring,
suburban family with three boys and a house with a white picket fence."
"She used us as a vault."
"And in doing so,
she put a target on our children’s heads."
James looked away,
the pride vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.
"If Julian finds this,"
Mark said,
closing the laptop,
"he doesn't just get his money back."
"He gets his power back."
"And he’ll kill anyone who has even glanced at these files."
"Including the kids?"
I asked,
my heart hammering.
"Especially the kids,"
Mark said.
"He can't leave witnesses,
Sarah."
"So,
what do we do?"
James asked,
leaning forward.
"We give it to him?"
"Give it to him?"
Mark laughed,
a cold,
humorless sound.
"If you give it to him,
he’ll kill you five minutes later just to make sure you don't talk."
"No,
we use it."
"We use it to bury him before he even gets to the porch."
"But we need time."
"And we need a way to get the kids out of here without being followed."
Just then,
the alarm on Mark’s phone went off.
He looked at the screen,
his face hardening.
"He’s here,"
Mark said.
"He’s at the bottom of the ridge."
"He must have followed my car."
"How?"
James panicked.
"I checked for trackers!"
"You checked for a magnet under the bumper,
James,"
Mark said,
already grabbing his gear.
"You didn't check the internal software of the car’s infotainment system."
"He’s been listening to us the whole time."
The house felt suddenly very small,
and the woods outside,
once a sanctuary,
now felt like a cage.
I ran to the back room,
grabbing the boys and pulling them into the center of the cabin.
"Is it time for the game?"
Toby asked,
his eyes wide.
"Yes,
baby,"
I said,
my voice shaking as I tucked him behind the sofa.
"It’s time for the quietest game we’ve ever played."
"Don't move,
don't speak,
and don't let go of each other."
I looked at Maya,
who was still in her basket,
unaware that she was carrying the weight of a hundred corrupt men in her music box.
I picked her up,
holding her so tight she let out a small squeak.
"I’ve got you,"
I whispered.
"I’ve got you."
Outside,
the sound of a heavy engine rumbled through the trees,
growing louder and louder,
until it stopped right in front of the cabin.
The silence that followed was worse than the noise.
It was the silence of a predator waiting for its prey to make a move.
Then,
a voice called out,
smooth and calm,
as if he were a neighbor stopping by for a chat.
"James!"
"I know you're in there,
buddy."
"And I know you have my property."
"Let’s not make this harder than it has to be."
I looked at Mark,
who was holding a service pistol in one hand and a flare in the other.
"Get in the cellar,"
May you like
he mouthed to me.
"Now."
