Chapter 10 - Dominic’s Version
Audrey did not react.
“Then who did?”
Dominic leaned closer to the glass.
“You always want everything simple.”
“No. I want evidence.”
His jaw tightened.
She had learned the language that frustrated him most.
Facts.
Not emotion.
Not accusation.
Facts.
“Rebecca ran from the cabin,” Dominic said.
“Then?”
“Richard followed her.”
“And you?”
“I followed him.”
“What happened?”
“She reached the road.”
Audrey waited.
“A car came around the bend.”
Her stomach tightened.
“She was hit?”
Dominic looked down.
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
He looked at her.
“My mother.”
Audrey stopped breathing.
Victoria.
Dominic claimed Victoria had been driving after all.
She struck Rebecca accidentally.
Panic followed.
Richard convinced them nobody would believe it was an accident.
They moved Rebecca.
Hid the body.
Abandoned her car near the lake.
Audrey listened without interrupting.
“Was Rebecca alive after she was hit?”
Dominic’s eyes moved away.
That mattered.
“Dominic.”
He remained silent.
“Was she alive?”
“Yes.”
Audrey felt sick.
“How alive?”
“She was breathing.”
“And instead of calling an ambulance?”
“Richard said—”
“I didn’t ask what Richard said.”
Dominic looked at her.
“What did you do?”
Silence.
Audrey suddenly understood.
“You let her die.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“What was it like?”
“Everything happened fast.”
Audrey stared through the glass.
Eight years reduced to that sentence.
Everything happened fast.
“You could have called 911.”
“I panicked.”
“You hid her body.”
“Richard made the decisions.”
“You were an adult.”
Dominic slammed his hand against the counter.
“You weren’t there!”
Audrey did not flinch.
“No.”
Her voice remained calm.
“Rebecca was.”
Dominic froze.
Audrey continued.
“And she doesn’t get to tell her version.”
She stood.
Dominic grabbed the phone tighter.
“Wait.”
Audrey looked at him.
“There’s more.”
“Tell the detectives.”
“He’s going to blame me for everything.”
“Maybe he is.”
“You know me.”
Audrey almost smiled at the repetition.
“No, Dominic. I know the evidence.”
She hung up.
Behind the observation window, Reed had heard everything.
Police immediately confronted Victoria.
At first she denied Dominic’s account.
Then forensic evidence changed the equation.
Investigators had found microscopic automotive paint fragments on Rebecca’s preserved clothing.
The color matched Victoria’s old car model.
Records showed repairs performed days after Rebecca disappeared.
Victoria broke.
She admitted hitting Rebecca.
But she contradicted Dominic on one crucial point.
“Dominic told me she was dead.”
According to Victoria, she was hysterical after the collision.
Richard checked Rebecca.
Dominic did too.
Both told Victoria there was no pulse.
Victoria believed them.
She returned to the cabin.
Dominic and Richard handled the rest.
Three versions now existed.
Richard blamed Dominic.
Dominic blamed Victoria and Richard.
Victoria admitted the collision but blamed the men for concealing Rebecca’s condition.
Investigators would need evidence to determine the truth.
Audrey refused to choose whichever story felt satisfying.
That was how manipulation worked.
It offered certainty before proof.
Weeks passed.
Forensic experts examined Rebecca’s remains.
The findings could establish injuries but not every detail of the final minutes.
Still, physical evidence supported a vehicle collision.
It did not answer who knowingly allowed her to die.
Then Claire remembered something.
Dominic had once told her:
“I saved my mother from prison.”
At the time, Claire thought he meant an old financial issue.
Now the sentence mattered.
Investigators searched Dominic’s archived emails.
One message to Richard, years after Rebecca’s death:
You owe me. I cleaned up your mess and hers.
Richard replied:
We cleaned up yours. Don’t rewrite history.
Again, ambiguity.
Again, blame.
But one fact became undeniable.
All three participated in concealment.
Audrey met Thomas again.
“They may never prove exactly what happened in those minutes,” she said.
Thomas nodded.
“I know.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the photograph of Rebecca.
“But eight years ago, people said she probably ran away. Now they know she didn’t.”
That mattered.
Rebecca’s story had returned to her.
Not perfectly.
But truthfully enough to restore what lies had taken.
Her name.
Her history.
Her dignity.
Audrey began therapy.
Not because she believed she was weak.
Because surviving prolonged manipulation had distorted her instincts.
She had learned to analyze footsteps.
Tone.
Door sounds.
Facial expressions.
Safety had become a calculation.
Now she needed to relearn ordinary life.
One evening, she returned home alone.
She entered the kitchen.
Opened the pantry.
The flour container remained.
The black case was gone.
She smiled.
That hiding place belonged to another version of herself.
She took the container down.
Then threw it away.
Her phone rang.
Sarah.
“Audrey, the forensic accountants found another account.”
Audrey sighed.
“How much?”
“That’s not the interesting part.”
“What is?”
“The account beneficiary.”
Audrey waited.
Sarah said:
“Not Dominic. Not Victoria. Richard.”
“So?”
“It was opened in your name.”
Audrey went still.
“I never opened an account for Richard.”
“I know.”
“Then who did?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine.”
Audrey looked toward the dark window.
The financial conspiracy was still unfolding.
May you like
And the newest account carried a signature that looked exactly like hers.
Except Audrey knew she had never signed it.
