Chapter 4 - The Trap Inside My Bedroom
Detective Brooks hated the plan.
Rosa hated it more.
“You are recovering from heart surgery,” she said.
“I know.”
“And you want a murderer inside this house?”
“I want him talking.”
Brooks installed three recording devices.
One inside the bedside lamp.
One behind a framed photograph.
One beneath the table beside my oxygen equipment.
The transmitter in my hand controlled everything.
One press activated the recording beacon.
Two presses locked the reinforced security doors my father had installed years earlier after a burglary scare.
Three presses alerted the officers waiting in the guesthouse.
“Do not play hero,” Brooks warned.
“I don't plan to.”
“If Victor becomes aggressive, press it.”
“I will.”
That was the plan.
Plans are beautiful until people enter them.
Victor arrived at 8:06 p.m.
He brought white roses again.
I almost laughed.
“Feeling worse?” he asked.
“A little.”
His eyes moved toward the oxygen equipment.
“Doctor coming?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Rosa?”
“Visiting her sister.”
Another lie.
Rosa was with Brooks.
Victor relaxed.
He poured himself my father's bourbon.
Then he opened his briefcase.
“You never signed.”
“I got tired.”
“We should finish tonight.”
I deliberately hesitated.
Victor noticed.
“What's wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Claire.”
I looked down.
“I found something.”
The room changed.
Victor stopped breathing for a second.
“What?”
“My mother's sewing room.”
He set down the glass.
“What did you find?”
I looked directly at him.
“A photograph.”
His expression emptied.
That frightened me more than anger would have.
“What photograph?”
“You know.”
Victor walked toward me.
Slowly.
“Where is it?”
“With someone else.”
That was when the mask fell away.
Not the oxygen mask.
Victor's.
“You've always been a terrible liar.”
He reached down and took my oxygen mask from my hand.
“Victor.”
“You should have signed.”
His voice was almost gentle.
Then he pulled the mask away.
I gasped.
“Your parents made the same mistake.”
My thumb found the transmitter.
Not yet.
I needed more.
“What mistake?”
“Thinking they could take everything from me.”
“My father built the company with you.”
“Your father inherited money. I built the company.”
“You stole from it.”
Victor smiled.
“There you are.”
No more pretending.
He knew.
I knew.
And suddenly we were both free.
“You killed them.”
He leaned closer.
“I paid men to solve a problem.”
My heart hammered.
“Raymond Pike?”
Victor's eyes narrowed.
Then he laughed.
“Your mother really did leave you everything.”
He pushed me backward.
Pain tore across my chest.
I fell against the side of the bed.
Victor crouched beside me.
“Do you know what the tragedy is?”
I struggled to breathe.
“You survived.”
His shoe pressed against the floor beside my leg.
Then against my chest.
Pain exploded through the incision.
“Victor—”
“I spent thirty years building that company. Your father wanted to expose me. Your mother found the accounts. And you?”
He leaned closer.
“You were supposed to die from grief.”
My thumb pressed the transmitter.
Once.
The light blinked.
Victor continued.
“You dying would be your first useful contribution to this family.”
I pressed it again.
Heavy steel security doors slammed shut.
Victor spun around.
“What did you do?”
I looked up at him through tears.
And smiled.
Because every microphone was recording.
“Something my mother taught me.”
“What?”
“Count the good things.”
May you like
Then I pressed the transmitter a third time.
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