Chapter 11
“Arthur hid the original will?” I asked, setting my sewing down.
“Arthur burned the copy Rebecca filed with the estate lawyers,” Nathan explained, his jaw tight. “He forged a new one. But Arthur is paranoid. He never destroys original leverage. Leo claims Arthur kept the real will hidden in a safety deposit box, and Leo knows the account number.”
“If we get that will, Arthur’s forgery charges become ironclad,” I realized. “He won’t be able to plea-bargain his way out of a life sentence.”
Nathan stood up. “I’m going to the bank right now. The police are meeting me there with a warrant. I need you to stay here with Sophie. Lock the doors. Don't let anyone in.”
“Nathan, you think Arthur still has people out there?”
“Arthur spent thirty years building favors in the Chicago underworld,” Nathan said grimly. “Until he is convicted, we assume nothing is safe.”
He kissed Sophie goodbye in the hallway, told the security detail to lock down the perimeter, and drove off in a black SUV.
The house grew quiet.
I made Sophie a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. We sat in the kitchen, laughing as she told me about her friends at school. For a few hours, the nightmare felt far away.
At 3:00 PM, the intercom by the kitchen door buzzed.
I walked over and pressed the button. “Yes?”
“Eleanor, it’s Marco from security,” a gruff voice crackled through the speaker. “We have a delivery at the front gate for Miss Sophie. A package from Mr. Sterling.”
I frowned. Nathan hadn’t mentioned sending a package.
“Leave it at the gate. I’ll get it later,” I said.
“Sir’s instructions were to bring it inside immediately. It’s a birthday present.”
Sophie’s birthday wasn't for another four months.
Every instinct in my body screamed.
“Marco,” I said, my voice steady. “What is Sophie’s middle name?”
Silence on the radio.
Marco had worked for the family for ten years. He knew Sophie’s middle name was Rose.
“Open the gate, Eleanor,” the voice on the radio changed. It was no longer gruff. It was smooth, cold, and horribly familiar.
It was Arthur Sterling.
I slammed my hand against the emergency lockdown button on the wall. Heavy steel shutters instantly dropped over the kitchen windows.
“Sophie, run to the panic room in the basement!” I shouted.
“What’s happening?” she cried, dropping her sandwich.
“Go! Now!”
I grabbed a heavy cast-iron skillet from the stove just as the back door of the kitchen exploded inward, the heavy wood splintering off the hinges.
Arthur walked through the dust, holding a suppressed pistol. His expensive suit was wrinkled, his hair disheveled. He had posted bail.
Two armed thugs stepped in behind him.
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“Where is the girl, Eleanor?” Arthur asked calmly.
I threw the iron skillet directly at his head.
