Chapter 12 - The Whispers in the Schoolyard
I drove back from the city with my vision vibrating with rage.
I didn't play the tape in the car.
I needed to look Claire in the eye before I listened to whatever ghost my father had recorded on magnetic ribbon.
When I pulled into the circular driveway, the private guards were standing by the gates.
The front lawn was still, but the front door stood wide open.
My heart seized.
I threw the car into park and ran across the gravel, bursting through the foyer.
"Claire!" I screamed.
"Emily!"
There was no blood.
There was no sign of a struggle.
From the sunroom, Claire walked out holding Emily’s backpack, her phone pressed against her ear.
She froze when she saw the look on my face.
"David, what happened to you?" she gasped, dropping the phone onto a side table.
"Where is she?" I demanded, catching my breath against the archway.
"Emily is fine! She’s at school. The headmaster called—there was an assembly."
"I told you not to let her out of the house!"
"David, she had a mandatory state testing session!" Claire snapped, stepping closer, her eyes flashing with defensive anger.
"The guards escorted her car! Marcus stayed by the school gate! We can't lock an eight-year-old in a padded cell because of a photograph!"
"You don't understand who took that picture," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous murmur.
I pulled the black ledger from under my coat and tossed it onto the glass table.
It struck the surface with a loud, heavy crack.
Claire glanced down.
The color completely drained from her lips.
She backed away three paces until her calves hit the base of the sofa.
"Where... where did you find that?" she whispered.
"Continental Trust. Box 409."
"David, please."
"Tell me about your father, Claire."
She swallowed, her throat convulsing with dry terror.
"My father is dead. He died in 1994 in the Alps. You saw the memorial stone."
"Then why did he authorize a transfer of four million dollars to Thomas’s private shell corporation last month?"
Claire covered her mouth with both hands.
Before she could answer, her phone on the side table began to buzz violently.
The screen flashed an unknown number.
I stepped forward and snatched it before she could react.
I pressed accept and put it on speaker.
"Is this Mrs. Vance?" a voice asked.
It was a woman’s voice—smooth, cold, and dripping with polite venom.
"This is her husband," I replied.
There was a brief pause on the line, followed by the faint sound of playground bells ringing in the background.
"Mr. Vance," the woman murmured softly.
"How fortunate. I’m standing by the swing set at Saint Jude’s Academy right now. Emily is wearing her yellow ribbon today, isn't she?"
My blood ran cold.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Tell Claire that her sister has come home to collect the remainder of the inheritance," the woman said.
May you like
"And if you call the police, your daughter won't make it to the three o'clock bell."
***
