Chapter 3
I took off my jacket and wrapped it around Claire’s shoulders.
She stared at the fabric as if she had forgotten what warmth felt like when it was offered instead of rationed.
“I need proof,” I said.
Her laugh was small.
“Look around.”
“I believe you. Courts don’t believe walls unless we make them speak.”
She watched me carefully.
“You sound like my mother.”
“What was she like?”
Claire’s face changed.
For a moment, the woman in front of me became the five-year-old girl again.
“She wore red lipstick and smelled like orange soap. She used to read contracts out loud because she said women should understand every paper put in front of them.”
“She was right.”
“She knew Vivian wanted the estate.”
“Did she leave records?”
Claire stood slowly.
Her knees shook.
I moved to help.
She stepped back by instinct.
I stopped.
She noticed.
That mattered to her.
She crossed the room and pried a loose board from behind the bed.
Inside the gap were papers wrapped in cloth.
She handed them to me.
“My mother hid these before the accident.”
I unfolded them under the weak lamp.
Trust documents.
Property deeds.
Letters.
A photo of Elizabeth Bennett with Vivian Ashford, both younger, both smiling.
On the back, in blue ink, one sentence.
If Vivian claims grief, check the lake.
“The lake?” I asked.
Claire nodded.
“They said I drowned in Briar Lake.”
“Did you ever go there?”
“Not that day.”
“What happened that day?”
Her eyes closed.
“My parents’ funeral had been two weeks earlier. Vivian said I needed fresh air. She took me near the lake, gave me hot chocolate, and I woke up here.”
Drugged.
A child drugged by her aunt and buried alive inside her own house.
I put the papers inside my shirt.
Claire touched my sleeve.
“If they search you—”
“They won’t.”
“You don’t know them.”
“No,” I said. “They don’t know me.”
A sound came from below.
A door opening.
Voices.
Vivian’s voice, sharp and low.
Grant answered.
Then Melissa.
Claire went white.
“They know.”
“How?”
She looked at the wall near the door.
A tiny red light blinked between two cracks.
Camera.
I moved fast.
I ripped it out and crushed it under my shoe.
Claire whispered, “You shouldn’t have done that.”
Footsteps pounded up the stairs.
I stepped in front of her.
The door handle twisted.
May you like
Then Vivian Ashford’s voice slid through the wood.
“Mr. Hale, open the door.”
