Chapter 9
The interior of the sedan was quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioning and Grace’s occasional, exhausted sniffles. The bright, cinematic daylight outside the car windows made the screen of the digital tablet difficult to see at first. Grace’s mother picked up the device, her fingers lingering over the power button.
"Grace," she said softly, turning back to her daughter. "I need you to close your eyes and cover your ears for a minute, okay? I need to look at something, and I don't want you to see it."
"Okay, Mommy," Grace nodded obediently, curling up on the back seat and pressing her hands over her ears.
Her mother turned back to the screen. She tapped the icon for the photo gallery. The first video in the queue was the one Connor had just recorded. She saw the thumbnail: Sabrina holding the scissors, the Grandmother pinning her child. Her blood boiled all over again, but she remembered Connor's urgent, terrified whisper. The first video isn't the worst one.
She scrolled past it.
There were dozens of videos. Connor had apparently been secretly recording his family for months, perhaps out of a child's morbid curiosity, or perhaps because he was afraid and wanted proof of the monsters he lived with.
She tapped a video dated three weeks ago.
The screen flickered to life. The video was shot from a hidden vantage point, likely a cracked door in the estate’s grand study. The colors were bright and clear. The audio picked up the crisp American accents perfectly.
On the screen, Sabrina and the Grandmother were sitting across from a man in a tailored suit. Grace’s mother recognized him instantly; he was a prominent local judge, a man who regularly appeared on the evening news.
"The zoning permits have been denied twice," Sabrina was saying in the video, pacing the room in an elegant dress. "We are losing millions on the waterfront development."
"I can't override the city council, Sabrina," the judge replied, running a hand over his fair, rosy face. "It's too public. People are watching."
Grandmother leaned forward in the video, her voice dripping with cold, calculated menace. "You will override them, Arthur. Or the photographs of you and that underage girl at our summer house will be sent to every news outlet in the state by morning."
The judge visibly paled on screen, burying his face in his hands. "You are ruining my life."
"We own your life," Grandmother corrected him cruelly. "Approve the permits."
Grace’s mother gasped, pausing the video. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs. This wasn't just wealthy arrogance; this was extortion. It was systemic, high-level political blackmail.
With trembling fingers, she tapped another video.
This one was shot in the estate’s massive garage. Sabrina was handing a thick, heavy envelope of cash to a rough-looking man standing next to a damaged luxury SUV.
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"The blood has been bleached from the upholstery," Sabrina told the man coldly. "Take the car to the crusher in the next state. Make sure it disappears completely. If the police find out my mother was driving drunk when she hit that pedestrian, I will ensure you take the fall for the murder."
Grace’s mother dropped the tablet onto the passenger seat as if it had burned her hands. She pressed her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream.
