Chapter 2 - THE TARGET IN THE BACKSEAT
“You were.”
The words echoed through the dining room.
Victoria’s father, Arthur, stood completely still. His face was pale, his hands trembling beside his dinner plate.
Noah dropped the leather album.
“Me?” the thirteen-year-old whispered. “Why would someone want to kill me?”
Anthony stepped toward Arthur. His presence was suffocating, the kind of quiet fury that had built his empire.
“Explain that, Arthur. Right now.”
Arthur couldn’t look at Anthony. He looked at Victoria.
“Tell him, Victoria. Tell him what you did with the mechanic.”
Victoria’s eyes widened in sheer panic. “Dad, shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“I know you paid him,” Arthur said, his voice breaking. “I found the bank withdrawals. Ten thousand dollars, two days before Isabella’s brakes failed on the coastal highway.”
The room went dead silent.
I stood paralyzed next to Noah. My heart pounded against my ribs.
Isabella’s death had been ruled a tragic accident. A rainy night. A slick road.
“You cut the brakes,” Anthony said, his voice devoid of all emotion. “To kill my son.”
“No!” Victoria screamed, gripping the edge of the table. “Anthony, you have to listen to me! I didn’t want to hurt Noah. I just wanted Isabella to feel the pain I felt when she took my baby away!”
“You signed a surrogacy contract,” Aunt Rosa snapped. “You were compensated.”
“She bought him!” Victoria pointed a manicured finger at the empty chair. “She couldn’t give you an heir, Anthony. So she used my body, took my child, and banished me! I just wanted her to lose him the way I did.”
Noah took a step back, bumping into me. I instinctively wrapped my arm around his shoulders. He was shaking.
“So you tampered with the car Noah was supposed to be in,” Anthony said, processing the horror.
“He was supposed to be going to summer camp that morning,” Victoria sobbed. “Isabella always let the driver take him. I didn't know she was going to use that car to drive herself to the estate.”
A collective gasp rippled through the guests.
She hadn’t meant to kill Isabella. She had meant to kill a five-year-old boy.
Anthony’s face hardened into something terrifying.
He didn’t yell. He didn’t strike her.
He turned to his guards. “Lock down the gates. Nobody leaves. Call the police.”
“Anthony, please!” Victoria reached for him, but he stepped back as if she were toxic.
“Dad?” Noah’s voice cracked.
Anthony knelt in front of his son, his eyes softening instantly. “I’m here, Noah. You’re safe.”
But Noah wasn’t looking at his father.
He was looking down at the letter Anthony still held. The one Isabella had hidden in the album.
“If she didn’t know the brakes were cut,” Noah whispered, “then why did Mom write that letter?”
Anthony froze.
He looked down at Isabella’s handwriting.
“It says Isabella’s accident was never meant to kill Isabella.”
If Victoria had intended to kill Noah... how did Isabella know it was murder, not an accident?
Anthony quickly unfolded the rest of the letter.
He read the next lines silently, his face draining of color.
“Anthony?” Aunt Rosa asked softly. “What did she say?”
Anthony slowly looked up at Victoria.
“Isabella knew you cut the brakes,” he said.
Victoria stopped crying. “What?”
“She knew,” Anthony repeated, his voice shaking with a devastating realization. “The mechanic felt guilty. He called the house that morning and confessed to Isabella before she left.”
My breath hitched.
If Isabella knew the car was a death trap... why did she get in it?
Noah pulled away from me. “Dad. Why did Mom drive the car?”
Anthony looked at his son, tears finally breaking in his eyes.
“Because Victoria was blackmailing her. And she had to protect a secret.”
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Anthony turned the letter over, revealing a small, silver key taped to the back of the paper.
“A secret hidden in the music box in the attic.”
