Chapter 12 - Up the Stairs
The heavy front door swung wide open as I sprinted across the threshold, abandoning the ruined patio and plunging into the dimly lit foyer. The familiar scent of lavender and old wood, which usually brought me a comforting sense of home, now felt suffocating and poisoned. The police sirens outside continued to wail, their flashing blue and red lights casting chaotic, sweeping shadows across the family portraits hanging neatly along the staircase wall.
“Sophia!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, my voice echoing hollowly through the empty living room.
There was no answer. Julian and Clara had vanished through the back exit, taking my little girl with them into the labyrinth of suburban backyards behind the property. But Sarah’s parting words still echoed relentlessly in my skull: Check your daughter's room upstairs before you celebrate.
I took the steps two at a time, my polished dress shoes pounding heavily against the wooden treads. The banister shuddered under my grip as I hauled myself upward, my chest heaving with exhaustion and adrenaline. The second-floor hallway was pitch black, the overhead smart-bulbs disabled by the master override system Sarah had activated earlier in the evening.
I reached the end of the corridor and shoved open the white wooden door to Sophia’s bedroom. The room was bathed in the soft, pale glow of a nightlight shaped like a crescent moon. Everything was meticulously in its place—her small brass bed with its pink quilt, the wooden dollhouse neatly arranged against the far wall, and the small mahogany desk where she practiced her drawing.
At first glance, the room appeared entirely undisturbed. But as I stepped further inside, a subtle detail caught my eye. The window leading out onto the second-story roof terrace was wide open, letting in a bitter gust of autumn wind. Taped securely to the glass of the window was a small, cream-colored envelope bearing my name in Julian’s neat handwriting.
My hands trembled violently as I walked over to the window, peeled the envelope off the glass, and ripped it open. Inside was a single polaroid photograph and a handwritten note.
The polaroid showed Sophia, bound gently by her wrists, sitting in the backseat of a vintage black sedan with Marcus Vance sitting in the driver's seat.
My breath caught in my throat. Marcus hadn't abandoned the plot. He was running it all along.
I swallowed hard and read the handwritten note aloud to the empty room.
“Thanks for uploading the files to the DOJ, Arthur. You just handed me complete control of the company. If you ever want to see your daughter again, meet me at the old boathouse by the lake in twenty minutes. Come alone.”
May you like
Before I could turn around toward the door, a heavy shadow detached itself from the walk-in closet behind me, and a solid blunt object struck the back of my head.
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