Chapter 9: The First Summons
The prepaid burner phone sat on the scarred wooden table like a ticking bomb.
We had been back in the attic for an hour. Sam had closed the auto body shop early, pulling the heavy rolling steel door down with a resounding thud and bolting it from the inside. The sun was dipping below the tree line of the valley, casting long, bruised shadows across the grease-stained floorboards and the metal drums in the yard below.
Michael stood by the small window, holding a mug of black coffee while staring down at the gravel road. "Clara was right," he said without turning around. "Sam saw a black sedan turn off the highway ten minutes ago. They aren't parking near the shop, but they've parked down by the creek bridge. They're waiting."
I sat at the table, staring at the little plastic phone we had bought at the pharmacy down the road. Just as I reached out to test the screen, it buzzed against the wood. A harsh, electronic vibration that broke the quiet of the room like a gunshot.
The screen lit up with an unknown incoming number.
"Don't answer it," Michael said, taking a step toward me.
"If I don't answer, they'll know we're here," I replied, my hand hovering over the blinking green button. "If I ignore them, they'll just send Sam's shop a message we can't afford to ignore. We have to know what they know."
I pressed the call button and brought the plastic phone to my ear.
"Elena," Helena’s voice came through the speaker. It wasn't the screaming, enraged roar of the penthouse bedroom when she lunged for my hair with her fingernails. This was worse. It was calm, measured, dripping with the terrifying, aristocratic control that had kept her untouchable for decades. "You’ve made quite a mess of yourself, haven't you? Running around the backcountry with a newborn and a disgraced corporate manager who couldn't even manage his own departmental budget, let alone a family legacy."
My fingers tightened around the edge of the table until my knuckles turned white. "The foundation isn't yours, Helena," I said, my voice shaking only slightly. "I found David's tape. I know what you did to him."
There was a long, heavy pause on the other end of the line. The only sound was the distant hum of traffic from the highway miles away. When Helena spoke again, her tone had hardened into pure ice.
"David was a weak, sentimental fool who couldn't handle the weight of what we built," Helena said smoothly. "And you, Elena, are just a scholarship girl who mistook kindness for ownership. That baby in your arms doesn't belong to you, and it certainly doesn't belong to Michael. Bring the child and the tape back to the penthouse by midnight. If you do, we can handle this quietly. If you don't... well, Sam’s auto body shop makes quite a lot of dry sawdust, doesn't it? It would be a terrible shame if an electrical fire broke out before morning."
The line clicked dead. A flat, mechanical dial tone buzzed in my ear.
I lowered the phone slowly, looking up at Michael. His face had gone completely pale, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He didn't need to ask what she had said; the answer was written in the cold, sinking terror that filled the room.
"She’s threatening Sam," Michael whispered, his voice dangerously low.
"She's threatening everyone," I said, standing up from the table and walking over to the cardboard box where the baby was beginning to stir. I scooped the newborn into my arms, wrapping the light green knitted blanket securely around its tiny shoulders. "We’re not going back to the penthouse, Michael. And we’re not running anymore either."
May you like
Michael looked at me, seeing the resolve hardening in my eyes. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the weathered cardholder and his car keys, and nodded once.
"Then we take the fight to the county records office," Michael said. "Before midnight."
