Chapter 4
The figure in the trench coat stepped out from the deep shadows of the overhanging oak tree, the gravel beneath his heavy boots crunching with a slow, deliberate rhythm. The amber patio floodlights caught the brim of a dark fedora, casting a deep shadow over the upper half of his face, though a jagged scar running along his jawline gleamed ominously in the light.
Elena let out a choked gasp, stumbling backward until the back of her legs hit the edge of the teak patio table. She gripped the edge for support, her knuckles turning bone-white.
“You,” Elena breathed, the word barely a syllable of air. “You said you wouldn’t come back here. Not after the transfer went through.”
The man stopped ten feet away from them, near the humming air conditioning unit. He didn’t look at Elena; his cold, dark eyes were fixed entirely on Clara, who stood frozen with her hand still gripping the edge of her dark green cardigan. He slowly raised his right hand, dropping another heavy black plastic trash bag onto the grass with a wet, heavy thud that sounded distinctly organic.
“Accounts change, Ms. Vance,” the man said, his voice a gravelly baritone that sent a shiver straight down Clara’s spine. “And so do agreements. When you start tossing family heirlooms through kitchen windows, you tend to attract unwanted neighborhood attention. Or worse, professional curiosity.”
Clara forced her paralyzed vocal cords to work, glaring at the intruder with a sudden surge of defensive fury. “Who the hell are you? Get off this property right now, or I swear to God I’ll call the police.”
The man let out a low, humorless chuckle that lacked any genuine amusement. He reached into his coat pocket, his movements slow and calculated, and pulled out a battered silver cigarette case. He flipped it open with a metallic click, though he didn’t light a cigarette.
“Go ahead, Ms. Vance. Call them,” the man invited smoothly, his gaze never leaving her face. “Tell the nice dispatcher that you’ve been trespassing in your own basement, digging up evidence in a three-year-old homicide investigation. Tell them about the lead-lined trunk. See how fast the state troopers show up, and see how long it takes them to realize your sister signed the death certificate using a forged power of attorney.”
Clara’s blood ran cold. She darted a sideways glance at Elena, who was shaking her head frantically in silent, tearful warning.
“You’re the one,” Clara whispered, the pieces clicking together with terrifying clarity in her mind. “You’re the one who was in the study that night. You’re the one who threatened Elena.”
“I’m just a businessman tying up loose ends,” the man replied, snapping the silver case shut. He took a slow step forward, closing the distance between them. “And right now, your sister has an outstanding balance on her ledger. A balance that needs to be paid in full before sunrise, or else the contents of those black bags out here on the lawn won’t stay hidden in the county records office.”
Elena pushed herself away from the table, stepping protectively in front of Clara despite her own terror. “Leave her out of this! Take whatever I have left in the accounts, take the house, take everything—just let her walk away.”
May you like
The man smiled, revealing a gold-capped molar that gleamed in the harsh light. He looked past Elena, locking eyes with Clara once more.
“Walk away?” the man murmured softly. “I’m afraid she already knows too much about what’s buried under the patio slab.”
