Chapter 6: Midnight Escape
The drop into the flowerbed was softer than I expected, but the damp autumn chill hit me instantly through my thin blouse, making my skin prickle with goosebumps. I crouched low beneath the weeping willow tree, my eyes fixed on the illuminated window of the upstairs nursery where a faint, warm light glowed behind the lace curtains. Martha was still awake up there, standing sentinel over a baby she had weaponized against me. I didn't dare look back toward the master bedroom where David was likely lying awake, tormented by a grief that had been manufactured by his own mother. Keeping to the deep shadows of the perimeter hedge, I hurried toward the detached garage, my sneakers crunching softly against the gravel driveway. The old station wagon was parked inside, its keys hanging safely on the peg by the side door just where they always had been.
Sliding into the driver's seat, I held my breath as I turned the ignition, praying the engine wouldn't roar too loudly in the dead of night. The old motor sputtered once before catching with a low, familiar purr. I flicked off the headlights until I had backed out past the stone pillars of our driveway and onto the quiet county road. The dashboard clock glowed 1:15 AM as I accelerated toward the town center, heading away from the comfortable suburban streets and toward the industrial park on the edge of town. My destination was a cluttered, neon-lit storefront wedged between a 24-hour diner and a laundromat: Miller's Network Solutions. Leo Miller was an old-school data recovery specialist who had helped David set up our home office years ago before Martha decided she could manage the tech herself. Leo didn't like Martha—he had always seen right through her polished exterior—and more importantly, he knew how to read the raw hex code of digital video files.
When I pulled up to the shop, the 'Open' sign flickered weakly in the window, casting a sickly green hue over the cluttered sidewalk. The bell chimed loudly as I pushed the glass door open, the scent of hot soldering iron and stale coffee washing over me. Leo looked up from a workbench covered in circuit boards and tangled wires, pushing his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose with a look of profound surprise. "Claire? Good Lord, girl, you look like you've seen a ghost. What are you doing out at this hour?"
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"Leo, I need your help," I said, my voice trembling as I placed the cracked tablet on his workbench. "I need you to pull the deep server logs from our home router for yesterday morning. Someone altered the security footage, and I need to prove it's a splice before sunrise."
Leo looked at my pale, tear-streaked face, then down at the tablet. Without asking another question, he reached for a heavy USB interface cable, his expression hardening with professional focus. "Pull up a chair, Claire. Let's see what your mother-in-law tried to hide."
