Chương 4
The question caught him off guard.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Claire stepped away from the storage unit entrance.
“You’re looking at me like there’s something I’m hiding.”
Thomas wanted to deny it.
The instinct came quickly.
It was the same instinct that had helped him survive hostile business meetings and painful negotiations.
But his daughter was not a competitor.
She was not someone he needed to defeat.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Claire seemed almost surprised by the apology.
It was probably the first one he had offered without explaining why he was right.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” she said.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Her voice softened.
“You know what’s happening to the company, to the house, to the papers.”
She touched the letter.
“But you don’t know what’s happening to us.”
Thomas looked away.
The hardest things to admit were often the ones nobody forced you to say.
A noise came from the hallway outside the storage units.
A door closing.
Footsteps.
Both of them stopped.
The sound passed.
Someone walked toward the exit.
Someone who had no reason to be there at that moment.
Thomas moved toward the doorway.
“Stay here.”
Claire immediately shook her head.
“No.”
“Claire.”
“No.”
There was no fear in her voice.
There was anger.
A familiar family trait.
Thomas almost smiled despite everything.
“You always did that.”
“Did what?”
“Argued when you were scared.”
Claire looked at him.
“And you always got quiet when you were.”
Neither of them moved.
Then the footsteps disappeared.
The moment passed.
But the feeling remained.
Someone else was searching.
Someone else knew about the storage unit.
They packed the letters quickly and left before checking anything else.
Thomas did not like leaving unfinished things.
It had been the reason his company succeeded.
He finished contracts.
He finished disputes.
He finished problems.
But this was not a problem that wanted to be finished.
It was a problem that wanted to be understood.
On the drive home, Claire sat in silence.
Rain began tapping against the windshield.
Not heavy enough to slow traffic.
Just enough to blur the city lights.
Thomas kept both hands on the wheel.
“You knew Margaret was different.”
Claire looked out the window.
“What?”
“Before today.”
She hesitated.
“A little.”
“How?”
“She called me sometimes.”
Thomas glanced at her.
“Called you?”
“After Mom died.”
He frowned.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Claire gave a tired laugh.
“Because you never asked.”
The answer hurt more than he expected.
“What did she say?”
“Mostly normal things.”
“Like what?”
“She asked if I was eating.”
Thomas almost smiled.
That sounded exactly like Margaret.
“She asked about my job.”
“She knew about your job?”
“Of course she did.”
Claire turned toward him.
“Dad, Margaret knew everything about everyone in that house.”
Thomas tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
“That’s the problem.”
“No.”
Claire shook her head.
“That’s the part you’re finally noticing.”
They drove the rest of the way without speaking.
When they reached the house, Thomas noticed the front gate was open.
He stopped the car before pulling in.
Claire looked ahead.
“Was it like that before?”
“No.”
He turned off the engine.
Neither of them moved.
The house stood exactly as it always had.
White exterior.
Large windows.
Perfect landscaping.
The kind of place people assumed meant a person had everything under control.
Thomas knew better now.
Control was often just ignorance with better furniture.
They entered through the side door.
Nothing appeared disturbed.
No broken locks.
No missing items.
That almost made Thomas more nervous.
A person who wanted to steal something usually took something.
A person who wanted to send a message left everything behind.
On the kitchen counter was another envelope.
This time, it was not addressed to Thomas.
It was addressed to Claire.
She reached for it.
Thomas stopped her.
“Wait.”
She looked at him.
“Why?”
Because Margaret’s warning had been meant for him.
Because someone had entered their home.
Because he did not know who was watching.
Because he had spent years believing protecting people meant keeping them away from ugly truths.
But none of those reasons sounded right anymore.
“Because I’m scared,” he admitted.
Claire’s expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
She had probably waited years to hear something like that from him.
Then she picked up the envelope.
“Me too.”
She opened it.
Inside was a single page.
Not from Margaret.
Not from Elaine.
From someone else.
The handwriting was unfamiliar.
Claire read the first line.
Then she stopped.
Thomas watched her face lose color.
“What?”
She handed him the paper.
The message was short.
Claire,
Your father will tell you he did not know.
He will believe that makes him innocent.
Ask him why Margaret Bell left the Avery house the night your mother died.
Thomas read the sentence again.
His stomach dropped.
“I don’t understand.”
Claire looked at him.
“You said Margaret stayed with us after Mom died.”
“She did.”
“Then why does this say she left?”
Thomas looked at the page.
The answer should have come immediately.
It did not.
Because twenty years earlier, on the night Elaine died, he had been drunk, exhausted, and furious after a fight with Richard.
His memory of that night was not complete.
There were gaps.
Small ones.
The kind people ignored because admitting they existed was too uncomfortable.
“I don’t remember everything about that night.”
Claire stared at him.
The silence between them changed.
Not because she believed the note.
Because she realized he was finally admitting there was something he did not know.
Thomas sat down at the kitchen table.
The same table where Margaret had served thousands of meals.
The same table where his family had celebrated birthdays and argued over ordinary things.
“Your mother died in the upstairs hallway,” he said quietly.
Claire swallowed.
“I know.”
“I found her.”
“I know.”
“Margaret was here.”
“Yes.”
Thomas looked at the note again.
“But I don’t remember her leaving.”
May you like
Claire slowly sat across from him.
For the first time that day, neither of them was trying to win.
