Chapter 4 - What Sophie Saw
I was in the car before Dana could stop me.
She grabbed the passenger door and climbed in.
“You are not going alone.”
Gloria got into the back.
Evelyn stayed behind to continue copying the files.
I drove.
Too fast.
Dana kept speaking calmly.
“Rachel, when we get there, you do not confront Marcus.”
“My daughter is in a basement.”
“I know.”
“He told me she was fine.”
“I know.”
“Claire said they have to leave tonight.”
“I heard her.”
“And Sophie said something about my father’s grave.”
“I heard that too.”
My hands tightened around the wheel.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
Our house sat twenty minutes away.
I made it in twelve.
Marcus’s car was in the driveway.
Claire’s wasn’t.
The front door was unlocked.
I entered.
“Rachel,” Dana warned.
“Sophie?”
No answer.
I moved toward the basement.
The door was open.
Lights on.
Empty.
“Sophie!”
I ran downstairs.
Nothing.
Then Gloria pointed.
A pink backpack lay near the furnace.
Sophie’s.
I picked it up.
Inside were pencils, a math workbook, a half-eaten granola bar, and a folded piece of paper.
A drawing.
Three stick figures.
Me.
Sophie.
And a man.
Marcus was not drawn beside us.
He stood far away.
Between us was a black rectangle.
Under it Sophie had written:
THE BOX DAD SAYS MOM CAN NEVER SEE.
I stared at it.
Dana took a photograph.
“What box?”
“I don’t know.”
Gloria looked around the basement.
“Maybe it’s here.”
We searched.
Nothing.
Then I noticed something.
A section of shelving against the far wall had fresh scratches on the floor.
We pushed it aside.
Behind it was a small recessed safe.
Locked.
Dana said, “Don’t force it.”
I almost laughed.
“Why?”
“Because we need everything clean.”
I studied the keypad.
Marcus used the same four-digit code for far too many things.
Sophie’s birthday.
The safe clicked.
Inside were files.
Cash.
Three passports.
Marcus.
Claire.
Sophie.
I picked up Sophie’s passport.
Her surname was Mercer.
Her photograph was recent.
Then I saw the travel itinerary.
Zurich.
Departure: 11:55 p.m.
Tonight.
“They’re taking her out of the country.”
Dana was already calling someone.
I kept searching.
There was also a binder marked:
RACHEL — FINAL.
Inside was everything they planned to use against me.
Including a typed statement supposedly written by Sophie.
My mother scares me.
Sometimes she says things that don’t make sense.
Dad says she is sick.
I don’t want to live with her.
My knees almost gave out.
Then I noticed corrections in blue ink.
Use “scares me,” not “frightens me.” Sounds more age appropriate.
Claire’s handwriting?
I didn’t know.
But someone had edited my child’s alleged testimony like a marketing slogan.
Gloria found another envelope.
“Rachel.”
Inside were copies of invoices submitted to my father’s trust.
SECURITY CONSULTING — $188,000.
SPECIALIZED THERAPY — $94,000.
RESIDENTIAL PREPARATION — $315,000.
WESTBRIDGE FAMILY FOUNDATION.
Claire’s foundation.
“They’ve already taken money,” I whispered.
Dana was still on the phone.
“Yes. Minor child. Possible international flight. I’ll send passport information.”
She ended the call.
“Authorities are being notified.”
“Can they stop them?”
“If we’re right about the flight.”
I checked the itinerary again.
Something was wrong.
“Sophie said Dad put papers in Grandpa’s grave.”
Gloria frowned.
“Maybe she meant at the cemetery.”
My father had been buried at Oak Ridge Memorial.
Twenty-five minutes away.
Dana looked at the time.
9:14.
Flight at 11:55.
“Why would Marcus hide documents in a grave?”
I thought of my father.
He didn’t trust Marcus.
Shortly before he died, he had said something strange.
“If that man ever asks you to sign anything about Sophie, bring it to Harold first.”
Harold was his attorney.
I had laughed at the time.
Dad hadn’t.
Then I remembered something else.
After the funeral, Marcus insisted on staying behind.
He said he needed a moment alone.
Had Sophie been with him?
Yes.
She had been six.
Exactly the age she was when Evelyn began treating her.
My phone rang.
Unknown Number.
This time I answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a whisper.
“Mom?”
“Sophie!”
Dana immediately started tracing information through the emergency contact process on her phone.
“Sophie, where are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you with Dad?”
“No.”
“Claire?”
“Yes.”
A woman’s voice sounded in the background.
“Sophie?”
The call went quiet.
I spoke fast.
“Baby, look around. Tell me anything.”
“I see planes.”
Airport.
“Are you inside?”
“No.”
“Parking garage?”
“Yes.”
My heart exploded.
“Listen to me. Stay with Claire. Do not run. Do not make anyone angry.”
Sophie whispered, “Dad’s coming.”
“Where?”
“He said he had to get the last thing first.”
“What thing?”
“The box.”
“What box?”
“The one from Grandpa.”
The line crackled.
“Sophie, what did you see at Grandpa’s grave?”
“I saw Dad dig.”
“When?”
“After everyone left.”
“Did he bury something?”
“No.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did he do?”
“He took something out.”
Dana and Gloria stared at me.
“What?”
“A black box.”
“What was inside?”
“I don’t know. Dad got mad when I saw.”
Claire’s voice came closer.
“Sophie.”
My daughter whispered quickly.
“Mom, Claire says Dad lied to her too.”
Then the call ended.
We looked at each other.
Claire was turning.
Maybe.
Or Sophie wanted to believe she was.
Either way, the airport was now priority one.
Dana said law enforcement had the information.
But I couldn’t sit still.
“We’re going.”
As we reached the front door, headlights swept across the windows.
A car stopped outside.
Marcus?
No.
An elderly man stepped out.
Harold Levin.
My father’s attorney.
I hadn’t seen him since the funeral.
He looked terrified.
“I’ve been calling you.”
“I changed numbers last year.”
“I know. I called Marcus.”
Of course.
Harold held a thick envelope.
“Rachel, we need to talk before Marcus finds you.”
“About my father?”
His face changed.
“How do you know?”
“Sophie saw Marcus take a box from Dad’s grave.”
Harold went white.
“So he found it.”
“What was in it?”
He looked toward the street.
“Not here.”
“Harold.”
“Your father discovered money was disappearing from Sophie’s trust before he died.”
I stared.
“He knew?”
“He suspected.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“He was gathering proof.”
“What proof?”
“Records linking Marcus and Claire Holloway to shell companies receiving payments from the trust.”
Dana stepped closer.
“Where are those records?”
Harold swallowed.
“Your father put copies in a fireproof case and hid it inside the burial vault before the cemetery sealed it.”
Gloria stared at him.
“He buried evidence with himself?”
“He believed it was the one place Marcus couldn’t reach without drawing attention.”
“But Marcus did.”
“Yes.”
I thought of Sophie seeing him after the funeral.
“What else was in the box?”
Harold looked directly at me.
“A letter.”
“For who?”
“You.”
“Did Marcus read it?”
“If he found the box, probably.”
“What did it say?”
Harold opened his envelope.
“I have a duplicate.”
He handed me several pages.
The first was in my father’s handwriting.
Rachel,
If you are reading this, then I was right not to trust Marcus.
Do not let him convince you that you are confused.
Do not let him isolate you.
Do not let him take Sophie.
I stopped.
The words blurred.
I forced myself to continue.
Your husband has been accessing Sophie's trust through fabricated educational and security expenses. Claire Holloway is involved, but she is not the person I fear most.
I looked up.
“Not Claire?”
Harold shook his head.
“Keep reading.”
The next sentence made my skin turn cold.
The person helping Marcus create the false records is inside Westbridge Academy, and that person has done this before.
I thought of Evelyn’s other missing mother.
Then I reached the last page.
A name had been written there.
Headmaster Richard Bell.
My phone rang.
Claire.
I answered.
She was crying.
“Rachel, listen to me.”
“Where’s Sophie?”
“With me.”
“Put her on.”
“We don’t have time.”
“Claire—”
“Marcus isn’t coming to the airport.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“He called. He said the plan changed.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then stay there. Police are coming.”
“You don’t understand.”
Her breathing became ragged.
“Marcus said Bell has Sophie’s original file.”
“Where?”
“At the school.”
“What original file?”
“The first one. From seven years ago.”
I looked at Dana.
Claire continued.
“The file that proves you were never supposed to be excluded.”
“Then why does Marcus need it?”
“Because there’s something attached to it.”
“What?”
“I never saw it.”
“Claire.”
“I swear.”
A sound interrupted her.
Car tires.
Then Claire whispered, “Oh God.”
“What?”
“He’s here.”
“Marcus?”
“No.”
Her voice dropped.
“Bell.”
The call abruptly ended.
Two seconds later, I received a photograph from Claire’s number.
A man was walking across the airport parking garage toward her car.
May you like
Headmaster Richard Bell.
And in his right hand, he was holding Sophie’s passport.
