Chapter 5 - My Aunt Came Back
Vivian had spent twenty-six years controlling the story.
Now she was losing control.
That made her more dangerous.
Federal agents moved Thomas to a protected location.
Reyes wanted me protected too.
I agreed to one condition.
We returned home.
I wasn't hiding while Vivian destroyed what remained of my mother's life.
Police stationed officers outside the house.
For two days, nothing happened.
On the third morning, a package appeared on the porch.
No courier.
No postage.
Inside was my mother's pearl necklace.
And a note.
YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED WITH HER.
Reyes took the package.
“You're leaving.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“She wants me frightened.”
“She wants you dead.”
“Then she'll come to me.”
He stared at me.
I could tell he hated what I was thinking.
“So we let her.”
“No.”
“You need Vivian.”
“We'll find her.”
“You haven't.”
His jaw tightened.
I leaned forward.
“She spent weeks living with me after the crash. She thinks I'm helpless.”
“You're recovering from two shattered legs.”
“Exactly.”
“She'll underestimate me.”
Reyes paced toward the window.
Then turned.
“What are you proposing?”
I looked toward Mom's office.
“Give her what she wants.”
Thomas.
Not the real Thomas.
A story.
We leaked that Thomas had returned to the house.
By sunset, a dark SUV passed twice.
Police traced the plate.
Stolen.
At 11:40 p.m., the power went out.
My heart began hammering.
The house became black.
Reyes's voice whispered through the earpiece.
“Stay where you are.”
I sat alone in Mom's office.
Wheelchair positioned beside the desk.
The red notebook lay visibly on top.
Bait.
A floorboard creaked downstairs.
Then another.
Slow footsteps.
Someone was inside.
I forced myself to breathe normally.
The office door opened.
Vivian stepped inside.
She looked different.
No makeup.
Wet hair.
Dark clothing.
But she was wearing Mom's coat again.
“You really should stop taking things that aren't yours,” I said.
She closed the door.
“Where is he?”
“Who?”
“Your father.”
“Somewhere you can't reach him.”
She smiled.
“I reached him once.”
My stomach tightened.
“You were afraid of him.”
“I was afraid of what Elena would believe.”
“She believed him.”
“Eventually.”
Vivian's eyes moved toward the notebook.
There.
Exactly what we'd hoped.
She walked toward it.
“Your mother should have left the past alone.”
“You killed her.”
“Your mother killed herself.”
“You cut the brakes.”
“I never touched that car.”
“Eddie did.”
For the first time, her expression flickered.
“He's talking.”
Vivian shrugged.
“Criminals talk.”
“He says you paid him.”
“He'll say anything for a deal.”
“Mom documented the payments.”
That got her.
Her eyes dropped toward the notebook.
Then she laughed.
“You think Elena was clever?”
“She was clever enough to find Dad.”
Vivian's smile vanished.
I continued.
“She found him before you killed her.”
“I didn't kill—”
“You ordered Eddie to cut the brake line.”
Silence.
I needed more.
A confession.
Anything usable.
Vivian walked closer.
“You want to know what your mother said when she realized I knew?”
I swallowed.
“What?”
“She begged.”
I knew immediately it was a lie.
Mom hadn't begged anyone in her life.
But I let my face break.
Vivian enjoyed it.
“She begged me not to hurt you.”
My hands tightened.
“What did you tell her?”
Vivian bent close.
“That accidents happen.”
There.
Through my earpiece, I heard Reyes whisper:
“Got it.”
But Vivian heard something too.
A faint electronic click.
Her eyes moved toward my ear.
Then she slapped me.
Hard.
The wheelchair rolled backward.
“You little—”
The door exploded inward.
“Police!”
Vivian spun.
Something flashed in her hand.
Reyes lunged.
A struggle.
The object hit the floor.
Not a gun.
A knife.
Officers pinned Vivian against the desk.
She screamed.
Not in fear.
In rage.
“You think you've won?”
I touched my bleeding lip.
Reyes handcuffed her.
Vivian looked directly at me.
“Ask your precious detective who warned me about the transport.”
Reyes froze.
Vivian smiled.
“There is someone inside his department.”
And suddenly the room felt dangerous again.
Because she was telling the truth.
Someone had helped her escape.
Someone with access to the investigation.
Someone who knew where I lived.
May you like
And that person was still free.
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