Chapter 5 - LOCKER 42
Glass shattered inward as the town car slammed into a concrete barrier.
My ears were ringing. The airbag dust choked the air.
“Grace!” I screamed, tearing off my seatbelt and reaching into the back.
“I’m okay, Mom,” she coughed, her arms wrapped tightly around the quilt.
In the driver’s seat, Melissa was bleeding from a cut on her forehead, but she was conscious. She looked out the rearview mirror, her eyes wide with terror.
“It’s him,” she whispered.
The black SUV that had hit us was idling twenty yards away. The driver’s side door opened, and William stepped out into the freezing snow. He wasn’t smiling anymore. His face was a mask of cold, calculated fury.
“Lock the doors!” I yelled.
Melissa hit the button. William walked up to my window and tapped on the cracked glass with the heavy silver handle of a golf club.
“Give me the coat, Laura,” he said, his voice muffled but terrifyingly calm. “And the watch.”
“He’s going to kill us,” Melissa sobbed.
I looked at the brass key in my hand. Then I looked at the dark alley to our right.
“Grace,” I said quietly. “When I open this door, you run. Take the quilt. Run into that alley and don’t stop until you find a police officer.”
“I’m not leaving you!” she cried.
“You have to. Go!”
I kicked my door open with all my strength. It slammed into William’s knees, knocking him backward.
“Run, Grace!”
Grace scrambled out the other side and bolted into the dark. William recovered instantly, raising the golf club.
“You stupid bitch,” he snarled, swinging at my head.
I ducked, the club smashing into the car window. Before he could pull it back, Melissa threw the car into reverse. The crushed fender scraped against William’s leg, making him stumble and fall into the snow.
“Get in!” Melissa screamed.
I dove back into the passenger seat as she slammed the car into drive, leaving William screaming in the rearview mirror.
We found Grace three blocks away, hiding behind a dumpster, clutching the quilt. We pulled her inside and sped toward Union Station.
The massive train terminal was nearly empty at midnight. We sprinted through the grand hall, our evening gowns torn and stained, looking for the lockers.
We found Locker 42 tucked in a dimly lit corridor near the old ticketing booths.
My hands shook as I slid the tiny brass key into the lock. It turned with a heavy click.
I opened the door.
Inside was a thick, leather-bound ledger.
I pulled it out and flipped it open. It was entirely in my mother’s handwriting.
October 12th: William transferred $40,000 from payroll to an offshore shell company. I kept the original bank slip.
November 3rd: He forged Laura’s signature on the commercial property deed. Copy attached.
My mother had been tracking his embezzlement for years. She had documented every stolen penny, every forged signature.
But the last page made my breath catch in my throat.
It wasn’t about money.
It was a paternity test result from seven years ago.
Melissa peered over my shoulder, reading the name on the medical document. Her face turned ghost-white.
“No,” Melissa whispered. “That’s a lie. Chloe is William’s daughter. He told me so.”
I looked at the paper.
“Melissa,” I said softly. “William isn’t Chloe’s father.”
The DNA match on the page belonged to Arthur, our company accountant.
Before Melissa could process the shock, my phone vibrated in my pocket.
May you like
It was a text from William.
I have your mother’s ashes, Laura. Come to the flagship store alone, or I pour them down the drain.
