Chapter 2
Victoria rushed to the stairs, her heels slipping on the damp concrete.
She grabbed the handle and yanked. The steel door did not move.
“Derek!” she snapped. “Open it.”
He shoved past her and threw his shoulder against the door. Once. Twice. The sound boomed through the basement like a drumbeat at a funeral. Nothing opened.
I lay still, breathing shallowly, each breath scraping fire across my ribs.
Victoria turned on me. “What did you do?”
“I protected myself.”
“You stupid old woman.” She stormed back and kicked the folder toward my face. “You think a door scares me? I’ll say you locked us in. I’ll say you fell because you’re confused. Everyone knows you forget things.”
That almost made me laugh.
For six months, she had been planting that story. Telling neighbors I wandered. Telling my doctor I misplaced checks. Telling relatives I was “declining.” She thought humiliation was paperwork if repeated enough.
But I had been a probate attorney for thirty-eight years.
I knew exactly what a lie looked like when it began rehearsing for court.
“Your memory problem,” Derek said, crouching beside me, “is already documented.”
“No,” I said. “Your fraud problem is.”
Victoria’s eyes narrowed.
I tilted my chin toward the corner above the wine racks. A tiny black camera blinked once in the darkness.
Derek went pale. Victoria followed my gaze.
“You recorded us?” she hissed.
“Samuel installed cameras after the burglary in 2011,” I said. “I upgraded them last month.”
“You can’t record family.”
“I can record criminals in my own home.”
Derek cursed and began searching the shelves for something to break the camera. Victoria grabbed a rusted pipe from beside the furnace and swung hard. The camera shattered, but its little red light had already gone dark.
“Too late,” I said. “Cloud storage.”
Her face twisted. “You miserable witch.”
Then came the pounding upstairs.
Not Derek’s panicked shoulder. Not Victoria’s fists.
Heavy blows. Police blows.
“Police department!” a voice thundered. “Open the door!”
Victoria stared at the ceiling. The color drained from her cheeks.
I let the silence stretch, savoring every second she understood too slowly.
“You called them,” she whispered.
“Before you pushed me.”
Derek grabbed her arm. “You said she was helpless.”
Victoria slapped him. “Shut up!”
The pounding continued. Wood cracked somewhere above. Boots hit the hallway. Men shouted my name.
“Mrs. Whitmore!”
For the first time that night, Victoria looked truly small.
I pushed through the pain and spoke clearly. “Down here.”
She lunged at me, desperate now, grabbing for my bracelet.
But the basement speaker clicked on, and a calm voice filled the room.
“Audio link active, Mrs. Whitmore. Officers are listening.”
May you like
Victoria stopped inches from my face.
Every mask she had worn fell away.
