Chapter 2
I almost screamed when I heard Maya's voice.
My sixteen-year-old daughter was standing in the hallway, speaking to the stranger who had just entered her bedroom.
And the first thing she asked wasn't who he was.
It was whether he'd touched me.
I lay frozen beneath her bed.
The stranger's brown work boots remained inches from my face.
I could hear him breathing.
Then a low male voice answered.
"Where is it?"
Maya sounded frightened.
"I told you I don't have it."
The man took one step toward the doorway.
The wooden floor creaked beneath his weight.
"Don't lie to me again."
I squeezed my eyes shut.
My daughter had been dealing with this man without telling me.
How long?
Why?
And what did he want?
Maya spoke again.
"Please. My mom doesn't know anything."
The man laughed quietly.
"Then you'd better keep it that way."
My stomach twisted.
I pressed my phone against my chest.
The screen lit briefly.
Still no signal.
Then the stranger moved.
His boots disappeared from my view.
I heard footsteps cross the bedroom.
A drawer opened.
Something struck the floor.
Maya gasped.
"Stop going through my stuff!"
"Then give me what belongs to me."
"It doesn't belong to you!"
The words came out louder than she intended.
Silence followed.
Then I heard a sharp slap against the wall.
Maya cried out.
My body reacted before my mind did.
I started crawling toward the edge of the bed.
But I stopped when the man spoke.
"One more word and your mother pays for it."
My daughter began crying.
I felt rage rush through me.
He was threatening my child.
Inside my own house.
And I was hiding beneath a bed.
I wanted to stand up.
Grab him.
Do anything.
But if I revealed myself, he might hurt Maya before I reached him.
I forced myself to stay still.
Then I heard a sound I recognized.
A zipper.
The man was opening Maya's backpack.
I pictured the black school bag she'd carried that morning.
The one she'd taken everywhere for weeks.
Had she brought it back?
Something rustled.
Papers.
Then the man cursed.
"Where's the drive?"
A drive?
I stared at the carpet.
Maya answered through tears.
"I don't know."
He stepped closer to her.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I gave it to someone."
My heart jumped.
Who?
The man's voice turned dangerous.
"Who?"
Maya didn't answer.
He repeated the question.
This time louder.
"Who did you give it to?"
My daughter's voice broke.
"Someone you can't scare."
The man made an angry sound.
Then I heard a chair scrape.
Something fell.
Maya gasped.
I couldn't stay hidden any longer.
I pushed myself forward.
But before I emerged, a phone rang.
Not mine.
The stranger's.
He answered immediately.
"Yeah."
A muffled voice spoke from the other end.
The man went still.
Then he looked toward the hallway.
"What do you mean she's here?"
My blood ran cold.
Who was here?
Me?
He had apparently believed I was somewhere else.
The man lowered his voice.
"Check the car."
He listened.
Then cursed.
Maya whispered:
"Please leave."
The stranger ignored her.
He walked toward the bedroom door.
"I'll be back."
His boots disappeared into the hallway.
I heard him descend the stairs.
A moment later, the front door slammed.
Maya remained standing in the bedroom.
I could hear her crying.
I crawled out from beneath the bed.
She turned.
The color drained from her face.
"Mom?"
I stood slowly.
My knees shook.
"Maya."
She looked toward the door.
Then back at me.
"Oh my God."
She rushed forward.
"Mom, why were you under there?"
I grabbed her shoulders.
"Who was that man?"
She started crying harder.
"Mom, please."
"Who was he?"
She shook her head.
"You weren't supposed to be here."
Those words hit me like cold water.
"What?"
"He thought you were at work."
I stared at her.
"Maya, tell me what's happening."
She looked toward the window.
Then suddenly grabbed my hand.
"We have to leave."
I pulled back.
"Not until you explain."
Her expression changed.
"Mom, listen to me."
She was trembling so badly I could feel it through her fingers.
"That man isn't here to steal anything."
I swallowed.
"Then why is he here?"
She looked at the bedroom door.
Then whispered:
"Because I found out what really happened to Dad."
My entire body went numb.
For three years, I had lived with the official explanation.
Marcus Robinson had died in a highway accident after his truck went off the road.
The police said he'd lost control during heavy rain.
There had been no criminal investigation.
No witnesses.
Just a terrible crash.
And a phone call that destroyed our family.
I stared at Maya.
"What did you say?"
She wiped her cheeks.
"Dad didn't lose control."
I shook my head.
"Maya, sweetheart—"
"No, Mom."
She gripped my hands.
"Somebody made him crash."
I felt the room spin.
"Who told you that?"
She looked toward the desk.
Then at the closed bedroom door.
"I found something on his old laptop."
Marcus's laptop.
The one I'd packed away after his funeral.
I remembered Maya asking for it last month.
She said she wanted old family photographs.
I'd given it to her without thinking.
My daughter pulled open her desk drawer.
Inside was a small notebook filled with handwritten dates.
She flipped through the pages.
"Three weeks ago, I found a folder Dad had hidden."
I sat on the bed.
My legs wouldn't hold me.
"What folder?"
"It had recordings. Emails. Pictures."
I stared at her.
"Of what?"
She swallowed.
"His company."
Marcus had worked as a safety inspector for a transportation contractor.
He often traveled to construction sites.
Sometimes he came home upset about problems at work.
But he'd never told me anything dangerous.
Maya continued.
"Dad found out somebody was falsifying safety reports."
I looked at her.
"That doesn't mean someone killed him."
"I know."
She turned a page.
"But he recorded a conversation the night before he died."
My heart began pounding.
"What conversation?"
Maya looked straight into my eyes.
"Someone told him to stop asking questions."
I covered my mouth.
Then she said something even worse.
"The man who came into my room works for the same company."
I stared at her.
"How do you know?"
She swallowed.
"Because I saw him in Dad's recordings."
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then a car engine started outside.
Maya rushed to the window.
She looked down.
And suddenly screamed.
"Mom, get away from the glass!"
I dropped to the floor.
A loud crack shattered the silence.
The bedroom window burst inward.
Glass scattered across the carpet.
Maya threw herself beside me.
I pulled her into my arms.
May you like
And as we crouched beneath the window, I understood something terrifying.
Whoever had killed my husband might now be trying to silence our daughter.
