Chapter 4: The Gates of Fog
The damp autumn air rushed into my lungs as I sprinted across the gravel, my dress shoes crunching against the small stones. The fog had rolled in thicker now, blurring the edges of the wrought-iron gates until they looked like jagged teeth swallowing the gray horizon.
"Maya!" I shouted, my voice cutting through the thick mist.
Ahead of me, the red dress flared as Maya turned around, her blonde hair whipping across her face in the wind. She stopped for a split second, her eyes wide with a mixture of guilt and sheer terror, clutching the red leather binder to her chest like a shield.
"Dad, stay back!" her voice rang out, sharp and high-pitched, echoing against the stone pillars of the gate.
"Maya, what have you done?" I slowed my pace, holding my hands up palms forward, trying to keep my voice even, though my heart was hammering against my ribs. "Brenda is using you. She drugged Clara—she put her in the ground while she was still breathing!"
Maya flinched, her lower lip trembling. For a fraction of a second, the hard, defensive shell cracked, revealing the frightened young woman underneath. "I didn't know about the coffin, Dad! I swear I didn't!"
"Then prove it. Give me the binder." I took one slow step forward. "We can fix this together."
"It's too late," Maya cried, her voice breaking. She looked back over her shoulder, where a sleek black town car was idling in the lane just beyond the fog line, its headlights cut. "Brenda already filed the emergency probate transfer this morning. If I don't give her these documents, she’ll ruin me too."
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"Dad, why is Aunt Brenda leaving?" Clara’s voice called out from behind me. I turned my head for a fraction of a second to see Clara standing on the terrace steps, wrapped in her blanket, staring down the driveway.
When I whipped my head back toward the iron gates, Maya had turned. She slipped through the narrow opening into the fog, the red dress vanishing into the gray expanse like a drop of blood in milk. The heavy iron gate swung shut behind her with a dull, final clang, leaving me alone in the mist with nothing but the rising tide of a conspiracy I was only beginning to understand.
