Chapter 2
I should have taken Lily and run.
Every instinct in my body screamed at me to get my daughter out of that house.
But Ryan’s face stopped me.
He wasn’t confused.
He wasn’t shocked.
He was terrified of something he had known about long before that night.
“You knew,” I said.
Ryan glanced at the guests.
“Emily, please.”
“You knew Frank was alive.”
Diane stepped between us.
“My son owes you no explanation.”
I laughed bitterly.
“My daughter has a swelling on her head because you attacked her.”
“I did not attack her.”
“You hit her because she discovered your husband.”
Diane’s expression twisted.
“Lower your voice.”
“No.”
The guests were openly watching now.
Diane’s anniversary celebration had become a courtroom.
I wanted every person there to hear.
Ryan reached for me again.
I backed away.
“Don’t touch me.”
His hand dropped.
“Emily, Lily needs a doctor.”
That was the first sensible thing he had said.
I looked down at my daughter.
Her eyes were heavy from crying.
Immediately, my anger shifted.
I knelt.
“Are you dizzy?”
“A little.”
My heart jumped.
“We’re going to the hospital.”
Diane said, “There’s no need to overreact.”
I spun toward her.
“You don’t get another opinion about my child.”
Then the knocking came again.
Three slow knocks from upstairs.
Lily looked toward the ceiling.
“He wants me.”
“No,” I said quickly. “You’re staying with me.”
Ryan suddenly moved toward the staircase.
Diane grabbed his sleeve.
“Don’t.”
He looked at her.
Something silent passed between them.
I hated it.
Three years of secrets seemed to exist inside that one glance.
“What happened to your father?” I demanded.
Ryan whispered, “Not here.”
“Here is exactly where.”
One guest raised his phone.
Diane saw it.
“Everyone out!” she shouted.
The room exploded with movement.
People grabbed coats and purses.
Some whispered.
Some avoided eye contact.
Several kept their phones raised.
Good.
Let them record.
Let Diane lose control of the story for once.
Within minutes, the grand room emptied except for me, Lily, Ryan, and Diane.
The caterers disappeared into the kitchen.
The pianist fled.
The front doors closed.
Silence filled the mansion.
Then a voice came from upstairs.
Weak.
Raspy.
But unmistakably human.
“Lily?”
My daughter gasped.
“That’s him!”
I stared at Ryan.
He looked destroyed.
Diane closed her eyes.
Then I started up the staircase.
Ryan blocked me.
“Emily, stop.”
“Move.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
He whispered, “My mother said Dad became dangerous.”
Diane snapped, “Ryan!”
He ignored her.
“She said after his stroke, he became paranoid. Violent. He refused treatment.”
“Stroke?”
I stared at him.
“You told me he died from a heart attack.”
“I know.”
My stomach turned.
“Did you ever see his body?”
Ryan looked down.
That was my answer.
“You attended the funeral.”
“There was a closed coffin.”
“And you never questioned it?”
“My mother had documents.”
Diane stepped forward.
“Because his death was legally handled.”
“His death?”
I pointed upstairs.
“He just called my daughter’s name.”
Diane’s lips tightened.
Ryan moved aside.
I climbed.
Lily held my hand.
I wanted her downstairs.
But I trusted Diane less than I trusted the mystery waiting above us.
Ryan followed.
Diane followed him.
At the end of the hallway stood the blue door.
I had passed it dozens of times.
Always locked.
Tonight, the lock had scratches around it.
Small scratches.
Like someone had repeatedly tried to open it from inside.
My stomach rolled.
Lily pointed.
“I found the key under Grandma’s flower pot.”
Of course she had.
Children noticed everything adults ignored.
Ryan tried the handle.
Locked.
“Mom,” he said. “Give me the key.”
Diane remained silent.
“Mom.”
“No.”
That one word answered more than anything else.
Ryan’s expression changed.
For the first time, I saw anger directed at Diane.
Real anger.
“Give me the key.”
“He belongs there.”
I stared at her.
“He?”
Diane realized what she had admitted.
Ryan whispered, “Jesus.”
I grabbed my phone.
“I’m calling the police.”
Diane moved fast.
She slapped the phone from my hand.
It hit the hardwood floor.
Ryan grabbed her wrists.
“Enough!”
Diane stared at her son in disbelief.
“You’re choosing her?”
“I’m choosing my father.”
Something broke in her face.
Ryan searched her dress pockets while she fought him.
Finally he pulled out a brass key.
He unlocked the door.
The smell hit first.
Stale air.
Medicine.
Sweat.
And something chemical.
The room was dark except for a lamp beside an old sofa.
A hospital bed sat against the wall.
And on it lay Frank.
Alive.
Thin.
Gray-haired.
Older than I remembered.
But alive.
A chain was locked around one ankle.
Lily cried out.
“Grandpa!”
Frank raised his head.
His eyes found her.
Then me.
Then Ryan.
“My boy.”
Ryan made a sound I had never heard from him before.
A broken sob.
He crossed the room and fell beside the bed.
“Dad?”
Frank touched his face.
“You finally came.”
Ryan cried harder.
I stood frozen.
Diane remained in the doorway.
No shame.
No tears.
Only rage.
Frank looked at me.
“She told him I was dead.”
I swallowed.
“Why?”
Frank’s eyes moved to Diane.
“Because I found out what she was stealing.”
Diane hissed, “Shut up.”
Frank smiled faintly.
“She emptied company accounts. Forged my signature. When I threatened to expose her, she drugged me.”
Ryan stared at his mother.
“No.”
Frank continued.
“She staged my death.”
Diane shouted, “He’s confused!”
But Frank pointed at a small cabinet.
“Bottom drawer.”
I opened it.
Inside were files.
Bank records.
Medication bottles.
Copies of forged death certificates.
And photographs of Frank tied to the bed.
Ryan staggered backward.
His whole world was collapsing.
Then Frank said the words that finished it.
“She couldn’t kill me because she needed my signature.”
I looked at Diane.
“For what?”
May you like
Frank’s voice dropped.
“To steal everything from Lily.”
