Mercer ordered another agent to arrest Chloe.
As they fastened the handcuffs on his wrists, he looked at me with pure hatred.
“This is your fault.”
I looked at my mother, standing in the center of the house that I had once filled with music, birthday cakes, and Sunday dinners.
“No,” I said. “This is the first thing that hasn’t happened.”
The officers escorted Julian and Chloe outside.
Neighbors began to gather across the street, drawn by the flashing lights. Julian lowered his head as he was put into the patrol car. Chloe kept yelling that Mom was senile and that I had manipulated everyone.
The car doors closed.
For the first time since I arrived, the house was silent.
But it was not peaceful.
The forensic technicians moved from room to room. The nurse recommended immediate hospital evaluation. Renee helped the mother gather some belongings.
I went into the kitchen to get his coat.
When I lifted it from the chair, something heavy moved inside the lining.
I checked the pockets.
Empty.
The weight was coming from under the fabric.
A section of the inner seam had been cut and sewn by hand.
“Mother?”
He appeared at the door.
Did you put something inside your coat?
Her eyes opened wide.
“I forgot.”
I found some small scissors and carefully opened the seam.
A USB flash drive fell into my palm.
Attached to the side was a folded sheet of paper.
The mother stared at the objects as if she were seeing a ghost.
“What is this?” I asked.
He looked towards the officers who were in the living room.
“Your father gave it to me before he died.”
My father had been dead for four years.
“Why did you hide it?”
“He told me never to let Julian find him.”
I unfolded the paper.
It contained a series of account numbers, dates, and the name of a private investigator.
In the end, my father had written only one sentence.
If Julian ever tries to keep the house, Elena will have to find out what happened to the first family.
I read it twice.
“Which first family?”
The mother slumped into a chair.
Her face had paled again, but this time the fear in her eyes was different. Older. Deeper.
“Julian is not your brother’s real name,” she whispered.
I stared at her.
“What are you talking about?”
Before I could respond, the forensic technician left the office with one of the recovered hard drives.
—Elena —he said—, we opened the most recent video folder.
Something in his expression chilled me to the bone.
“What did you find?”
“The files aren’t just recordings of your mother.”
He turned the laptop towards me.
A paused video filled the screen.
The image had been captured in the basement two nights earlier.
Julian was standing next to a man in a dark coat.
The man’s face was partially turned, but I recognized him immediately.
Judge Thorne.
The same man she had called for help.
In the recording, Julian handed her a thick envelope.
Then Judge Thorne looked directly into the hidden camera and said, “When Elena arrives, we will finish what her father started.”
My mother grabbed my arm.
Outside, my phone started ringing.
The caller ID displayed the name of Judge Thorne.
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