Chapter 7 - The Twenty-Third Camera
When we arrived at the mansion, the front door was open.
No guards.
No lights outside.
No movement.
The silence felt staged.
Grant stopped the car.
“Stay behind me.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I said no.”
He almost smiled.
“Still stubborn.”
“You married me.”
“I know.”
We entered.
Every light in the house was on.
The cameras moved simultaneously.
It was as if the mansion were watching us.
Then the television turned on by itself.
A video appeared.
My father.
Older.
Sitting at a wooden desk.
My heart stopped.
“Claire,” he said.
My knees nearly gave out.
“If you're watching this, Adrian has returned.”
The video continued.
“I know what you're going to think. You will wonder why I lied. Why I disappeared. Why I let you believe I was dead.”
He looked exhausted.
“I did it because the people hunting me could not be stopped by the law alone.”
He paused.
“And because I made a mistake.”
Grant moved closer to the screen.
Daniel continued.
“I trusted the wrong man.”
A photograph appeared.
Adrian Cross.
Then another.
A young Grant.
Then another.
My father standing beside him.
“Grant is not the enemy.”
I looked at my husband.
Daniel's voice softened.
“He was supposed to be your protection.”
The screen changed.
My father stood beside a safe.
“I built the final archive to store evidence against Adrian.”
A small image of the hidden room appeared.
“The key is not a physical key alone.”
Grant frowned.
Daniel continued.
“It is blood.”
I froze.
“Your blood, Claire.”
“What?”
“The archive can only be opened by a biometric sequence tied to my family.”
The screen went black.
Then another message appeared.
PLACE YOUR HAND ON THE GLASS.
I stepped toward the hidden wall.
Grant grabbed my wrist.
“Wait.”
The wall lit up.
A fingerprint scanner emerged.
I looked at him.
“Dad expected this.”
“I know.”
I placed my hand on the glass.
The wall clicked.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside was the blue music box.
I picked it up.
My hands shook.
The box began playing a melody I remembered from childhood.
Three notes.
Four.
Then the lid opened.
Inside was a tiny brass key.
And a folded piece of paper.
I opened it.
My father's handwriting.
THE PERSON YOU TRUST MOST HAS ALREADY SEEN THIS.
I looked at Grant.
He didn't move.
“You.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“Then who?”
The music box suddenly clicked again.
A second compartment opened.
Inside was a photograph.
Nora.
My father.
And another woman.
I knew her.
Natalie.
I turned toward her.
“You knew my father?”
Natalie's face went pale.
“Only once.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
“While you were pretending to be Grant's mistress?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To help him.”
She swallowed.
“Your father hired me.”
Grant looked surprised.
“You never told me.”
“I was protecting Claire.”
I laughed.
“This entire time, everyone was protecting me by lying to me.”
Natalie shook her head.
“Not everyone.”
The house alarm suddenly screamed.
Marcus rushed in from the side hallway.
“They're here.”
Gunfire erupted outside.
Grant pulled me behind the stone wall.
The front windows shattered.
Men flooded the courtyard.
Marcus returned fire.
Natalie grabbed the music box.
“Don't lose this.”
I looked at her.
Then she stepped into the open.
A bullet struck her shoulder.
She collapsed.
“INCOMING!” Marcus shouted.
Grant dragged her behind cover.
My heart pounded.
“Natalie!”
She grimaced.
“I'm okay.”
She wasn't.
Blood soaked her sleeve.
Grant pressed a cloth against the wound.
Then he looked at me.
“You need to leave.”
“No.”
“Claire—”
“No.”
I picked up the brass key.
“We're done running.”
I looked toward the security panel.
The house had twenty-three cameras.
But camera twenty-three had always been strange.
It showed the old stone garden.
A place I had never thought important.
I activated the feed.
There.
A man stood near the garden wall.
Gray hair.
Scar across his cheek.
My breath stopped.
“Dad.”
Grant looked at the screen.
He was alive.
And standing outside our house.
Then Daniel looked directly into the camera.
He held up one hand.
Five fingers.
Then four.
Three.
Two.
One.
The screen went black.
A door beneath the garden opened.
Grant stared at me.
“The final archive isn't under the office.”
“Where is it?”
May you like
“Under the garden.”
We ran.
