Chapter 3 - The Lie Owen Already Knew
Owen's father had been dead for nine years.
At least, that was what Owen believed.
Richard Mercer had supposedly died after his car went through a guardrail in northern California. No body had been recovered.
Now a man with Richard's face was standing in my kitchen.
Owen called him.
“Dad?”
The man on the camera froze.
He couldn't hear us.
But he seemed to know we were watching.
He placed a folder on the counter.
Then left.
We drove to my house.
The folder contained financial records, photographs and a handwritten note.
Emily—
If Damon learns you know about the trust, he will move the money before you can stop him.
Do not sign anything.
Do not confront Claire.
And do not believe Margaret.
R.M.
Owen read it twice.
“That's his handwriting.”
“Why would your father fake his death?”
“I don't know.”
His voice cracked on the last word.
We heard the front door.
Owen shoved the documents beneath his jacket.
Claire entered.
She stopped when she saw us together.
Her face went white.
“Emily.”
I smiled.
“Coffee?”
Owen stared at her.
Claire looked between us.
Something in her expression told me she understood.
“You told him.”
“I showed him.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“It's not what you think.”
Owen laughed once.
It contained no humor.
“You were hiding half-dressed in her closet.”
Claire whispered, “I can explain.”
“Then explain.”
She looked at me.
“Not here.”
“Why?”
“Because Damon records this room.”
My skin prickled.
Claire walked toward a lamp and reached beneath its base.
She removed a tiny black microphone.
Owen stared.
“How did you know?”
“Because he made me put it there.”
The betrayal suddenly became stranger.
Claire had slept with my husband.
But she was afraid of him.
“Why?” I asked.
She swallowed.
“Because Damon isn't trying to leave you.”
“That doesn't make me feel better.”
“He needs you married to him.”
“For my inheritance?”
Claire nodded.
“And the baby.”
My hand covered my belly.
“What does my daughter have to do with this?”
Claire looked toward the window.
Before she could answer, headlights swept across the wall.
Damon's car.
Claire panicked.
“He can't find me here.”
Owen grabbed her arm.
“You're not leaving.”
Claire pulled free.
“You don't understand.”
The garage door began opening.
Claire whispered, “Ask Damon what happened on July ninth.”
The second access code.
She ran toward the back door.
Damon's footsteps entered the kitchen.
I turned.
He was holding a bouquet of flowers.
His smile disappeared when he saw Owen.
Then his eyes shifted to the lamp.
The microphone was gone.
His face changed.
“Where's Claire?”
Nobody answered.
Damon set the flowers down.
Very carefully.
Then his phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen.
For the first time since I'd caught him, genuine terror crossed his face.
“What happened?” I asked.
Damon stared at me.
Then at Owen.
“Nothing.”
Owen stepped closer.
“Tell her about July ninth.”
The color drained from Damon's face.
He whispered, “Who told you that?”
A sound came from upstairs.
A door closing.
Damon looked toward the ceiling.
Claire had never left.
May you like
She was still inside the house.
Then a woman's scream came from the nursery.
