Chapter 7 - THE BRACELET
David stared at the iron poker in my hand. He let out a long, rattling sigh and reached into his trench coat pocket.
He didn’t pull out a watch. He pulled out a heavy silver bracelet.
Melissa gasped, stepping forward. “That’s Greg’s,” she said, her voice shaking. “My ex-husband’s medical alert bracelet. He never took it off.”
David placed the silver bracelet on the coffee table. The metal clinked loudly against the wood.
“Greg didn’t move to California, Melissa,” David said quietly.
Melissa’s knees buckled. She dropped to the floor, grabbing the edge of the coffee table. “What do you mean? He texted me. He sent child support checks for the first year.”
“Thorne sent those checks,” David said. “To keep you quiet. To keep you thinking Greg just walked away.”
“What did Thorne do to him?” I demanded, stepping closer to David.
David looked at Leo, then back at me. “Greg figured out Thorne’s scam. He found out Thorne was the one holding the debt over this house. Greg went to confront him to protect you, Melissa. He threatened to go to the police.”
“And Thorne killed him?” Melissa screamed, clutching the silver bracelet to her chest.
“I don’t know if he’s dead,” David said. “But he’s gone. Thorne made him disappear. And he kept the bracelet as a trophy. I stole it from Thorne’s office yesterday when I went to offer him a deal.”
The room spun. My father’s secrets, my sister’s hidden debt, a ruthless developer, and now the disappearance of my nephew’s father. The weight of it all was suffocating.
“You went to Thorne’s office?” I asked. “Why?”
“To offer myself in exchange for the house,” David said. “He laughed in my face. Said he wanted the property because of what’s buried underneath it.”
Mom let out a sharp cry and covered her face with her hands.
I whipped around to look at her. “Mom? What is he talking about? What is buried under our house?”
Mom rocked back and forth, sobbing into her hands. “Your father… he didn’t put the money in the bank, Claire.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the silver key. “But the letter… Dad said the key was for the lockbox at First National.”
“There is no lockbox,” Mom wept. “The key is to the old storm cellar. The one your father sealed shut with concrete the year before he died.”
I stared at her, horrified. “He buried Thorne’s money under our house? Why would he write a letter saying it was at the bank?”
“Because he knew if Thorne ever found the letter, Thorne would go to the bank, not tear up the foundation,” David said, realization dawning on his face. “It was a decoy.”
“So Thorne is taking the house to bulldoze it and dig up his stolen money,” I said, the pieces finally clicking together into a horrifying picture.
“Yes,” David said. “And if he finds out we know it’s there, he won’t bother waiting for Friday. He’ll send his men tonight.”
Suddenly, the lights in the living room flickered, buzzed loudly, and went pitch black.
Outside the front window, the headlights of three black SUVs cut through the darkness, pulling up onto our front lawn.
Someone began pounding on the front door.
May you like
“They’re here,” David whispered. He reached into his coat and pulled out a heavy, dark handgun.
He looked at me. “Get your mother and the boy to the back door. Now.”
