Chapter 9 - Someone Inside My House Was Watching Me
October 12, 2014.
The date appeared in my mind before I could stop it.
Roman watched my face.
“You know it.”
“Yes.”
My mother tightened her grip on my hand.
“What date?”
“The night Kent told me his father had died before we met.”
Roman frowned.
“But Charles had been dead for years by then.”
“I know.”
I looked at the password box.
“That was the first lie I ever caught.”
Kent and I had been dating for six months.
We were sitting in a little Italian restaurant when I asked why he never talked about his father.
Kent told me Charles had died when Kent was twenty-four.
Later, Margaret casually mentioned that Charles had lived until Kent was twenty-nine.
When I confronted Kent, he said he'd misspoken because talking about his father was painful.
I believed him.
October 12, 2014.
The first crack.
So small I'd painted over it myself.
I typed the date.
ACCESS DENIED.
Roman leaned closer.
“Try another format.”
10-12-2014.
ACCESS DENIED.
My mother stared at the screen.
“Daniel wouldn't use the date itself.”
“What?”
“He liked layered questions.”
I looked at her.
“You remember his passwords?”
“He made me furious with them.”
For one strange second, she almost smiled.
Then the reality of the last six years returned between us.
I looked back at the hint.
THE DATE YOUR HUSBAND FIRST LIED TO YOU.
Not the date I caught him lying.
The date he first lied.
Those weren't the same thing.
My stomach tightened.
“Our first date.”
Roman understood.
“He already knew who your father was?”
Kent had admitted recognizing my name after we met and calling his mother.
But what if that was another lie?
I entered the date of our first date.
March 22, 2014.
The screen changed.
PASSWORD ACCEPTED.
My chest went cold.
“He lied before we were even together.”
Roman said nothing.
The video resumed.
My father stared into the camera.
“If you're seeing this, Claire, then events unfolded in a way I hoped they never would.”
His voice.
I had forgotten tiny things about it.
The softness.
The slight hesitation before my name.
My eyes filled.
“I need you to understand something about Charles Ashby's family. Charles is dangerous. His son may not be.”
Kent.
“But Charles has already begun creating accounts in Kent's name. The boy may not know. That distinction matters.”
I glanced at Roman.
My father continued.
“If Kent ever enters your life, ask one question before you trust him.”
The video flickered.
“Ask him how he first learned your name.”
My breath stopped.
Kent had said he learned who my father was after meeting me.
The video continued.
“If his answer involves coincidence, he is lying.”
I felt physically sick.
My father had recorded that five years before I met Kent.
“How could Dad know?”
My mother looked devastated.
“Charles.”
“What?”
“He had photographs of you.”
Roman turned sharply.
“Why?”
My mother closed her eyes.
“Insurance.”
“Against Daniel?”
“Yes.”
My father continued on-screen.
“Charles keeps records on everyone. Including my family. If he dies, those records will pass to someone. Perhaps Margaret. Perhaps Kent. Perhaps someone worse.”
The image distorted.
Then my father leaned closer.
“But if my daughter ever marries an Ashby, open File Seven.”
The screen went black.
A folder appeared.
FILE SEVEN.
Roman said, “Don't open it here.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“We're exposed.”
He glanced toward the warehouse.
Adrian Mercer was still inside with police.
Vanessa too.
Kent was missing.
Evelyn had vanished.
And someone had just used Kent to activate my father's system.
Roman was right.
I hated that.
“My house,” I said.
My mother grabbed my arm.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“Kent said the access file is there.”
“Which means whoever has him knows that.”
Roman nodded.
“They'll expect us to go.”
“Then where?”
“My hotel.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone knows you own it.”
A tiny smile touched his mouth.
“Good.”
“What?”
“You're learning.”
“I've had an educational anniversary.”
His smile disappeared.
“Claire.”
“I know.”
He opened the SUV door.
“We use somewhere Mercer won't connect to me.”
Twenty minutes later, we entered a small apartment above a closed bookstore in Ballard.
No guards outside.
No black SUVs.
Nothing about it looked like Roman Vale.
I stared at the faded couch.
“You own this?”
“No.”
“Who does?”
“My sister.”
I looked at him.
“You have a sister?”
“She lives in Boston.”
“You don't seem like someone who has siblings.”
“What does someone with siblings look like?”
“Less terrifying.”
My mother actually laughed.
The sound hurt.
It sounded exactly as I remembered.
I turned away.
Roman set a laptop on the kitchen table.
“Open File Seven.”
I did.
A list appeared.
Photographs.
Financial documents.
Audio recordings.
And one file labeled:
CLAIRE — SURVEILLANCE.
I stopped.
Roman's face hardened.
“Open it.”
Hundreds of photographs filled the screen.
Me at nineteen.
Twenty-one.
College graduation.
My first job.
Coffee shops.
Restaurants.
My mother's apartment.
Then 2014.
Kent appeared.
I clicked the first photograph containing him.
It was dated March 4.
Eighteen days before our first date.
Kent stood across the street from my office.
Watching me.
“No.”
Another photograph.
March 7.
Kent in a coffee shop I visited every morning.
March 11.
Kent speaking with a man outside my apartment.
March 18.
Kent sitting in his car across the street.
Then March 22.
Our first date.
My hands went numb.
“He didn't meet me by accident.”
My mother whispered, “No.”
I turned toward her.
“You knew?”
“No.”
“You knew Charles had photographs.”
“Not these.”
“Stop lying to me.”
“I am not lying.”
“You faked your death!”
Her face crumpled.
“I know.”
“You don't get to ask for trust.”
“No.”
At least she didn't fight me.
Roman scrolled further.
“Kent isn't taking these photographs.”
I looked.
He was right.
Someone else had photographed Kent watching me.
Two layers of surveillance.
Kent had been following me.
Someone had been following him.
“Who took them?”
Roman opened the file information.
No name.
Only initials.
E.S.
“Evelyn Shaw,” I said.
“Likely.”
“Why would she watch Kent?”
“To see what Charles's records led him to.”
I clicked another folder.
KENT ASHBY — CONTACT LOG.
Dates.
Phone calls.
Meetings.
Then a name repeated several times before Kent and I met.
MARGARET ASHBY.
Of course.
His mother.
Another name appeared.
V. CROSS.
Vanessa.
My blood ran cold.
“Seven years before the affair?”
Roman leaned closer.
The first entry involving Vanessa was February 2014.
Before Kent met me.
“He knew Vanessa before our marriage.”
I whispered it.
My mother's expression changed.
“Claire…”
“He said she approached him three years ago.”
Roman's jaw tightened.
“He lied.”
Again.
I opened the entry.
February 16, 2014.
ASHBY MET V. CROSS — NORTH HARBOR ARCHIVE.
March 2.
ASHBY RECEIVED BENNETT FILE.
March 4.
SURVEILLANCE OF CLAIRE BENNETT BEGINS.
My vision blurred.
Kent had received my file.
Two days later, he started watching me.
Eighteen days after that, he introduced himself.
I remembered the coffee shop.
His smile.
“Is this seat taken?”
Such an ordinary sentence.
A decade of my life had followed it.
Roman's voice softened.
“Claire.”
“Don't.”
I needed to keep reading.
March 21.
ASHBY INSTRUCTED NOT TO APPROACH SUBJECT.
March 22.
ASHBY DISOBEYS.
I stopped.
Roman read it again.
“He was told not to approach you.”
“But he did.”
My mother leaned closer.
“By whom?”
The next line answered.
Instruction issued by V. Cross.
Vanessa had told Kent not to meet me.
He did anyway.
That didn't make me feel better.
It made everything more confusing.
I opened an audio file dated March 21.
Kent's younger voice filled the room.
“I found Daniel Bennett's daughter.”
Then Vanessa.
“Observe her. That's all.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Anything Daniel may have left.”
“She doesn't know anything.”
“You've watched her for two weeks.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She goes to work. She visits her mother. She buys terrible coffee.”
My chest tightened.
Vanessa's voice sharpened.
“Don't become sentimental.”
“I'm not.”
“Then remember why you're doing this.”
Kent was silent.
Vanessa continued.
“Your father died because of Daniel Bennett.”
I stared at the laptop.
That was what Kent had believed.
Kent finally said, “Claire didn't kill him.”
“No. But she may have what did.”
The recording ended.
I couldn't move.
Roman sat across from me.
“He approached you while investigating your father.”
“Yes.”
“But Vanessa told him not to.”
“Yes.”
My mother whispered, “And he married you anyway.”
I looked at her.
“That isn't romantic.”
“I didn't say it was.”
“Good.”
Because I refused to let love become an excuse for deception.
I clicked the next file.
The surveillance continued after Kent and I began dating.
Then something changed.
July 2014.
Kent stopped submitting reports.
August.
No reports.
September.
Vanessa repeatedly contacted him.
October 12.
A recording.
The date from the password hint.
I pressed play.
Vanessa's voice.
“You're compromised.”
Kent answered, “I'm done.”
“You don't get to be done.”
“Leave Claire out of this.”
“You were supposed to find the evidence.”
“There is no evidence.”
“You don't know that.”
“I know her.”
Vanessa laughed.
“You've known her six months.”
“I love her.”
Silence.
My heart betrayed me with one painful beat.
Vanessa said, “Then you're more stupid than Charles.”
Kent's voice hardened.
“My father lied to me.”
“About what?”
“Daniel Bennett didn't kill him.”
Silence.
“Where did you hear that?”
“My mother.”
The recording ended.
I stared at the screen.
Roman leaned back.
“So October twelfth wasn't merely when you caught Kent lying.”
“It was when he discovered he'd been lied to.”
My father couldn't have known the exact date.
The system must have been updated later.
“Someone modified Dad's files after his death.”
Roman nodded.
“Someone with access.”
My mother went pale.
“Evelyn.”
E.S.
I opened the modification history.
The most recent change was six years ago.
Three days after my mother's supposed death.
Authorized user:
EVELYN SHAW.
“She built this system with Dad.”
My mother nodded slowly.
“She helped him preserve the evidence.”
“Then why disappear tonight?”
Roman stood.
“Because she knew we'd find this.”
I scrolled farther.
A final folder appeared.
CURRENT SURVEILLANCE.
My stomach tightened.
“Current?”
I opened it.
Photographs loaded.
My house.
Yesterday.
Kent entering.
Me leaving for work.
Last week.
Last month.
Then interior photographs.
My kitchen.
My bedroom.
My study.
Taken from angles too high to be handheld.
Roman stood immediately.
“Cameras.”
Someone had installed cameras inside my house.
I clicked one image.
Timestamp: three nights ago.
I was asleep in bed.
Kent stood in the doorway watching me.
Another image.
Kent entering his office.
Another.
He removed the framed wedding photograph from the wall.
Behind it was a small black device.
The access file.
Kent hadn't been lying about that.
Then someone entered the frame behind him.
I froze.
A woman.
Blonde.
Vanessa.
Inside my house.
Three nights ago.
Kent spun around in the image.
The next photograph showed them arguing.
Then Vanessa left.
I opened the associated audio.
Kent's voice:
“You shouldn't be here.”
Vanessa:
“Mercer knows about the account.”
“How?”
“Someone told him.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Get out.”
“You need to move the money tonight.”
“No.”
“If you don't, Claire becomes the target.”
“She already is.”
A pause.
Then Vanessa said something that changed everything.
“Then tell your wife who has been living inside this house.”
Silence.
Kent whispered:
“What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
The recording cut out.
I looked at Roman.
“Living inside my house?”
My mother had gone completely pale.
“What?”
I asked.
She stood.
“Claire, your house has an old service corridor.”
“No, it doesn't.”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Your father built it.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
“To hide records.”
Roman was already reaching for his phone.
I looked back at the screen.
There was one final surveillance image.
Timestamped tonight.
After the police searched my house.
After we left.
My bedroom.
Empty.
Then the next image loaded.
The closet door was open.
A man stepped out.
I enlarged the photograph.
Roman leaned over my shoulder.
My mother gasped.
The man wasn't Kent.
He wasn't Adrian Mercer.
He was holding the brown leather briefcase that had supposedly been stolen.
Then another image loaded.
He turned toward the hidden camera.
For the first time, I saw his face clearly.
Roman whispered, “That's impossible.”
My phone rang.
Home security.
I answered.
A mechanical voice said:
“Interior motion detected.”
Then another alert appeared.
MASTER BEDROOM: DOOR OPEN.
A live camera feed activated.
My bedroom was dark.
The closet door slowly moved.
May you like
Someone stepped into view.
And this time, he was holding a photograph of me.
