Chapter 13
The federal marshal stood framed in the doorway, snow swirling around his boots as he scanned the tense, exhausted faces in the living room. His dark winter coat was unbuttoned, revealing a badge that gleamed sharply under the warm amber lighting of the hallway.
"Arthur Vance?" the marshal asked, his voice deep and authoritative, cutting through the heavy silence of the room. "And Marcus Vance?"
Arthur stepped forward, squaring his shoulders despite his exhaustion. "I am Arthur Vance. This is my son-in-law, Marcus. Who are you?"
"Special Agent Vance—no relation," the marshal said dryly, flashing an identification card before tucking it back into his jacket. "I’m Agent Hayes with the Federal Bureau’s interstate abduction unit. We’ve just taken custody of Elena Vance at the county precinct. Based on the preliminary statements she’s given our agents, this case goes far deeper than local child-swapping."
Clara stepped out from the shadows of the Christmas tree, the infant in the green reindeer onesie still clutched securely in her arms. "Did she say where my real son is? Did she give you a location?"
Agent Hayes shifted his gaze to Clara, his expression softening slightly with professional sympathy. "Mrs. Vance, your sister isn't cooperating with investigators in the traditional sense. She’s treating this like a game. She gave us a riddle, not an address."
"A riddle?" Marcus exclaimed, throwing his hands up in sheer exasperation. "People's lives are being destroyed, and she's playing games?"
"What was the riddle, Agent?" Arthur asked, his voice steady despite the toll the night had taken on him.
Hayes pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. "She told our interrogator: 'The first was left where the lights burn brightest, the second was hidden where the cold runs deepest, and the third is waiting where the old clock stopped.'"
Martha let out a sharp gasp, clutching her chest. "The old clock... she means the grandfather clock in the hallway."
Everyone turned their heads simultaneously to look at the tall, antique wooden grandfather clock standing silently in the corner of the living room, its pendulum frozen in place, having stopped ticking hours ago when the power flickered during the storm.
Clara’s heart skipped a beat. She looked down at the infant in her arms, then slowly walked across the room toward the massive wooden clock, her footsteps echoing hollowly on the hardwood floor.
"She wouldn't," Marcus whispered, following closely behind her. "She couldn't be that sadistic."
Clara reached out her trembling hand and grasped the ornate brass handle of the grandfather clock’s lower storage compartment. The door creaked loudly as she pulled it open, revealing a dark, dusty interior filled with old photo albums and forgotten holiday decorations.
She reached her hand into the dark recess, her fingers brushing against something soft and warm.
May you like
With a sharp intake of breath, Clara pulled her hand back out, holding a small, blue-embroidered baby blanket that definitely did not belong to the infant in the reindeer onesie.
Agent Hayes stepped up beside her, shining his heavy flashlight into the dark base of the clock. Inside the compartment, tucked behind a stack of old magazines, lay a secure, climate-controlled portable incubator unit—and inside it, moving softly, was a third infant.
