Chapter 4: The Ledger
Mason walked over to the small wood-burning stove in the corner of the room, tossing in a split piece of birch that caught with a sharp hiss. The extra heat drifted across the room, carrying the dry, sweet scent of burning sap, but it couldn't thaw the chill that seemed permanently settled in my bones.
"Found these in the floorboards under the sink," Mason said, tossing a thick manila envelope onto the foot of the bed. It landed with a heavy, satisfying thud against the white linens. "Your father-in-law’s private legal counsel. Signed affidavits declaring you medically incompetent, Claire. Dated three days before you disappeared from the estate."
I stared at the thick brown paper. My name was typed across the top in crisp, black capitals—*Claire Vance, Patient Status: Unstable*. The neatness of the ink made my stomach turn. It was the same bureaucratic machinery that had locked my mother away thirty years ago, wrapped in the respectable language of probate courts and family trustees.
Gabriel didn't touch the envelope. He already knew what was inside. His jaw was locked so tight I could see the muscle jumping beneath his beard.
"They built the narrative before they even laid a hand on you," Gabriel said, his voice dangerously quiet. "Julian wanted the trustees to believe you ran off during a psychotic break. That way, when the custody papers went through, nobody would ask questions about the bruises."
"And the police?" I asked, looking from Gabriel to Mason's bruised face. "How many precincts are on Julian's payroll?"
"Enough," Mason said grimly, leaning his shoulder against the timber wall. "Which is why I'm taking off this badge the second we hit the county line. Official channels are a dead end, Mr. Vance. You know it, and I know it. If we want this ledger to see a judge, we have to drop it straight into the federal prosecutor's lap in Burlington before your brother's lawyers get a judge to sign an emergency injunction."
Gabriel nodded slowly. He reached down, picking up the manila envelope and sliding it into the deep inside pocket of his black suit. The action was deliberate, almost ritualistic—the closing of one phase and the opening of another.
"Burlington," Gabriel agreed. "We leave at midnight. When the snow picks up and the cameras on the interstate are blinded."
May you like
I looked down at Eli. She had finally relaxed her grip on my shirt, her breathing deep and even, completely oblivious to the war being fought over her cradle. I pulled the white sheet up higher around her shoulders, my fingers brushing Gabriel's hand where it still rested near my knee.
"I'm ready," I said.
