Chapter 4 - The House Beneath the Vineyard
I stared at the photograph until my eyes hurt.
Leah reached for it.
Jonah pulled it away.
“Don't.”
Her face hardened.
“You want to explain why you're carrying surveillance photos of me?”
“I'd rather hear you explain why you met Conrad Voss three weeks ago.”
Leah looked at me.
“I didn't.”
Jonah laughed once.
“That's you.”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“So three weeks ago I was investigating him.”
Silence.
Leah reached slowly into her jacket.
Jonah shifted.
“Easy.”
She removed her phone.
“Sarah, call the Los Angeles U.S. Attorney's Office. Ask for Special Agent Marcus Bell. Use the public number. Tell him my name and ask whether I opened a sealed financial crimes inquiry into Conrad Voss on August eighteenth.”
Jonah said nothing.
I made the call.
Five minutes later, I had confirmation.
Leah had been investigating Conrad.
The photograph proved something.
Just not what Jonah thought.
Leah ended the call and looked at him.
“Now you tell me who took that picture.”
Jonah's confidence vanished.
“I don't know.”
“Then somebody wanted you to distrust me.”
Maya looked toward the black sedan across the street.
“Which means they knew we'd meet.”
The sedan began moving.
We didn't wait.
We split into two cars.
Leah followed us for exactly six blocks.
Then she disappeared.
No phone call.
No message.
Nothing.
I wanted to turn back.
Jonah refused.
“If they're watching her, going back exposes Chloe.”
The worst part was that he was right.
We drove north.
For the next two hours, the city disappeared behind us.
Freeways became highways.
Highways became narrow roads cutting between dry hills and vineyards.
Chloe slept against me in the rear seat.
Her fingers remained wrapped around the rag doll.
I had tried taking it from her twice.
She refused.
I stopped trying.
Jonah drove.
Maya sat in front.
“Tell me about the trust,” I said.
Jonah glanced at me through the mirror.
“I drafted parts of it.”
“You knew?”
“I knew Harrison's grandmother left a generational trust. I did not know Chloe was the sole living beneficiary until the litigation ended six months ago.”
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
“Because the trustee was required to notify Harrison first.”
“And Harrison was already with Victoria.”
“Yes.”
“So she found out before me.”
“Yes.”
I looked out the window.
“Forty-eight million dollars.”
“Closer to fifty-two now.”
I closed my eyes.
“That's not helping.”
“It wasn't meant to.”
“What happens when Chloe turns six?”
“An annual distribution becomes available for education, medical care, housing, and welfare. A guardian can petition for extraordinary distributions.”
“How extraordinary?”
“Millions.”
I looked at Chloe.
“And Victoria's plan is what? Kill us and take custody?”
“No.”
Jonah hesitated.
“Your death would create too much scrutiny.”
Somehow that was worse.
“She wants you alive.”
“For what?”
“Discredited.”
He explained the documents from Harrison's videos.
Fake psychiatric records.
Anonymous complaints.
Manufactured evidence of prescription abuse.
A staged incident in which a witness claimed I had left Chloe alone overnight.
They were creating a legal trail.
Not enough for prison.
Enough for custody.
“Victoria planned to present herself as Harrison's wife,” Jonah said, “claim he was medically incompetent, and petition for temporary guardianship of Chloe as the nearest stable family household.”
“My daughter has never met her.”
“The court would care more about paperwork than introductions if the paperwork looked legitimate.”
My hands curled into fists.
For three years, I had worked two jobs.
I had counted grocery money.
I had sat beside Chloe when she had fevers.
I had invented excuses for a father who did not call.
And somewhere, strangers had been manufacturing proof that I was a bad mother.
“I want her destroyed.”
Jonah looked at me.
“Then we need evidence.”
At 1:40 in the afternoon, we saw the estate.
Stone walls.
Iron gates.
Rows of grapevines stretching across rolling hills.
No sign.
No visible address.
Maya pointed toward a smaller road.
“There.”
A service entrance.
The gate opened with a code Jonah had obtained from Harrison months earlier.
I stared at him.
“You've been here?”
“Once.”
“Why?”
“Harrison asked me to change his will.”
Maya twisted around.
“What?”
Jonah nodded.
“He wanted everything outside the trust transferred to Sarah and Chloe if he died.”
I couldn't speak.
“Did you do it?”
“I prepared the documents.”
“Did he sign them?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“They disappeared from my office two days later.”
Of course they did.
We parked near an equipment barn.
Jonah had printed old architectural plans.
According to county records, the estate's winery had been renovated fifteen years earlier.
According to the plans, a storage cellar sat beneath it.
According to Harrison's message, something else was down there.
Chloe stayed with Maya in the barn.
I hated leaving her.
But taking her underground was worse.
Jonah and I entered through the winery.
The air smelled like oak and cold stone.
We moved past enormous barrels until we found a locked metal door.
The brass key fit.
My hand shook as I turned it.
The door opened onto stairs.
Jonah switched on his flashlight.
“Stay behind me.”
“No.”
“Sarah—”
“He called me.”
That ended the argument.
We went down.
The first room was empty.
The second held medical supplies.
IV bags.
Prescription bottles.
Disposable syringes.
I photographed everything.
Jonah opened one cabinet.
“Jesus.”
Patient files.
Not one.
Dozens.
Different names.
Different photographs.
Some with red labels reading CLOSED.
My stomach turned.
“Harrison isn't the first.”
“No.”
A sound came from deeper in the basement.
A cough.
I ran.
“Sarah!”
I ignored Jonah.
A corridor stretched ahead.
Three locked doors.
I opened the first with the key.
Empty.
Second.
Empty.
Third.
A man sat on a narrow bed.
For one moment I did not recognize him.
Then he lifted his head.
Harrison.
He was thinner than in the video.
His beard had grown unevenly.
One eye was bruised.
His wrists were marked from restraints.
But it was him.
My ex-husband.
The man I had hated for three years.
The father Chloe still loved.
His lips parted.
“Sarah?”
The sound of my name nearly broke me.
I stood frozen.
He tried to rise.
His legs gave out.
I caught him before he hit the floor.
He smelled like antiseptic and sweat.
His body shook violently.
“You came.”
“Don't make me regret it.”
A strange laugh escaped him.
“I already gave you enough reasons.”
I wanted to scream at him.
I wanted to ask why he left.
Why he ignored his daughter.
Why money and glamour mattered more than us.
Instead I said, “Can you walk?”
“With help.”
Jonah entered.
“Harrison.”
Harrison's face changed.
“You shouldn't be here.”
“You left me a map.”
“I left you instructions to call the FBI.”
“We improvised.”
Harrison gripped my sleeve.
“Chloe?”
“Safe.”
“Is she here?”
“Above ground.”
Fear filled his eyes.
“No.”
“What?”
“Get her out.”
“We are.”
“No. Now.”
He tried standing again.
“Harrison, what is it?”
“Victoria isn't in Los Angeles.”
My pulse jumped.
“Where is she?”
He stared toward the ceiling.
“Here.”
A loud metallic clang echoed through the basement.
Jonah ran to the corridor.
The stairwell door slammed shut.
Locks engaged.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then speakers hidden somewhere in the ceiling crackled.
A woman's voice filled the room.
Smooth.
Amused.
Victoria.
“I have to admit, Sarah,” she said, “I always wondered what it would take to make you come running back to your husband.”
I pulled Harrison upright.
“Where is my daughter?”
Victoria laughed softly.
“Oh, she's exactly where you left her.”
I looked at Jonah.
Then another voice came through the speaker.
A child's scream.
“Mommy!”
Chloe.
I ran toward the locked door.
“CHLOE!”
Victoria's voice returned.
“You've spent three years believing Harrison chose me over you.”
A pause.
“Now we're going to find out whether you'll choose him over your daughter.”
May you like
The lights went out.
And somewhere above us, Chloe screamed again.
