Chapter 6 - The Silent Partner
The realization that my father might have been murdered turned my cold anger into something volcanic.
I spent the rest of the night digging through the hospital records on the flash drive.
There it was.
A signature on the "do not resuscitate" order.
It wasn't mine.
It was a forged version of my signature,
but the notary was the same one Patricia used for her charity galas.
They had ended his life to keep him from talking.
And they had used me as the scapegoat.
By dawn,
I was no longer just fighting for a settlement.
I was fighting for justice.
I called Marcus.
"We're going to the Voss estate,"
I said,
my voice trembling with rage.
"Claire,
that's a fortress,"
Marcus warned.
"You can't just walk in."
"I have the keys,
Marcus,"
I reminded him.
"As part of the divorce,
the judge granted me seventy-two hours to retrieve my personal items from the estate."
"And I’m going to do it now."
I hired four bodyguards and a locksmith of my own.
We arrived at the Voss iron gates at 8 AM.
The security guard at the gate looked at me with wide eyes,
his hand hovering over his radio.
"I’m here for my things,"
I said,
handing him the court order through the window.
"Open the gate,
or I’ll have the sheriff here in five minutes to do it for you."
The gate creaked open,
and we drove up the long,
winding driveway to the limestone mansion.
Harrison and Patricia were standing on the front porch,
looking like they hadn't slept a wink.
"You have no right to be here!"
Patricia screamed as I stepped out of the car.
"I have a court order,
Patricia,"
I said,
holding up the papers.
"And I’m going to the library."
Harrison’s face went pale.
He tried to block the door,
but my guards stepped forward,
their presence undeniable.
"Move,
Harrison,"
I said.
"Unless you want to add 'contempt of court' to your mounting list of felonies."
He stepped aside,
his eyes darting to his mother.
I walked into the house,
the smell of old money and stale perfume hitting me like a physical blow.
I went straight to the library,
a room filled with first-edition books that no one ever read.
I walked to the fireplace and looked at the floorboards,
just as my father had described.
I found the hidden latch under a bust of Julian Voss.
The floor groaned as a section of the shelving slid back,
revealing a keypad.
I punched in my birthday.
0-5-1-2.
The heavy steel door clicked and swung open.
Inside was a small,
sterile room filled with filing cabinets and a single,
large safe.
"Claire,
don't do this,"
Harrison said,
standing in the doorway,
his voice shaking.
"There are things in there that will destroy everyone."
"Including you."
"I’m already destroyed,
Harrison,"
I said,
not looking back.
May you like
"Now,
it’s your turn."
