Chapter 4
The sudden silence that followed the dying flicker of Arthur’s phone screen felt heavier than any explosion. Arthur tapped the black plastic casing repeatedly against his palm, his brow furrowing in deep frustration as the device stubbornly refused to turn back on.
“Of all the terrible timing,” Arthur muttered under his breath, tossing the useless phone onto the dining table where it clattered softly against a silver spoon.
Clara stopped struggling in Mark’s grip, letting out a dark, breathless chuckle that sent a shiver down Mark’s spine.
“Looks like nobody is calling the police tonight, Mark,” Clara whispered, a triumphant edge returning to her tear-stained voice. “We are entirely on our own in this house.”
Margaret rushed over from the corner where she had been comforting Lily, her face pale with mounting dread.
“My landline in the kitchen,” Margaret said quickly, turning toward the arched doorway. “It has a physical cord. It doesn’t rely on batteries.”
“Go,” Mark ordered, keeping his firm grip on Clara’s shoulders. “Hurry, Mom.”
Margaret bolted from the dining room, her footsteps echoing rapidly down the short hallway leading to the kitchen. Silence descended upon the dining room once again, broken only by the rhythmic, deafening tick of the grandfather clock in the corner. Mark stared down at Clara, studying the frantic pulse beating wildly in the hollow of her throat.
“Why are you protecting whatever is in that study, Clara?” Mark asked softly, his anger replaced by a crushing, exhausting confusion. “What did you do?”
“I protected us,” Clara spat back, her eyes flashing with a desperate defiance. “You are so blind, Mark. You think you’re the hero of this family, but you’re the reason we’re drowning in debt!”
Arthur stepped closer, his face hardening as he pointed his wooden cane toward Clara.
“Watch your tongue, young lady. That debt was accumulated by your own hand at the country club, and you know it,” Arthur snapped, his voice carrying the authority of a patriarch who had seen too many lies.
Clara sneered, tossing her head back with manufactured arrogance.
“Oh, is that what you told him, Arthur? Did you tell him about the offshore accounts?” Clara taunted, a wicked smile playing on her lips.
Mark felt his stomach drop. He loosened his grip on Clara slightly, sheer shock rippling through his nervous system.
“What offshore accounts?” Mark demanded, looking between his wife and his father. “Dad, what is she talking about?”
Arthur’s face drained of all color, the weathered skin turning an ashen grey as he gripped his cane tighter for physical support.
“Don’t listen to her, Mark,” Arthur stammered, his voice losing its usual iron strength. “She’s trying to deflect, to create chaos so we forget about Lily’s face.”
Before Mark could press his father further, a loud, terrified scream echoed from the kitchen down the hall.
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“Margaret!” Mark shouted, dropping his hold on Clara entirely and sprinting toward the kitchen without a second thought.
Clara didn’t run; she simply stood by the dining table, watching him leave with a terrifying, hollow calm. Mark rounded the corner into the kitchen, his heart hammering against his ribs, only to find the room completely empty, the landline phone dangling by its coiled cord from the wall.
