Chapter 5
The Carter estate was a sprawling, pristine architectural marvel of white stone and glass, bathed in the rich, vivid colors of the late afternoon sun. The bright, luminous light cast long, elegant shadows across the manicured lawns. Inside, the atmosphere was a suffocating contrast to the airy beauty of the home.
Margaret Carter sat behind the massive mahogany desk in the estate's main study. Daniel and Vanessa paced the length of the Persian rug. They had been released on bail exactly as Margaret had predicted, but the sheer panic in the room was palpable.
"We have to leave the country," Vanessa babbled, her resort dress wrinkled, her oversized sunglasses discarded on a side table. Her fair skin was blotchy from crying. "If the police see that video on the news, we are going to prison! The press will crucify us!"
"Shut up, Vanessa!" Daniel roared, running his hands through his thick, wavy hair. His tropical linen shirt clung to his sweating back. He turned to his mother. "How did she get that video, Mother? You told me the cameras were wiped!"
"They were wiped, you incompetent fool," Margaret said, her voice a low, venomous hiss. She didn't raise her voice, but her cold authority brought Daniel to a halt. "Emma found a secondary recording from one of the child's electronic devices. It bypassed the main server."
"Then we are dead," Daniel gasped, gripping the edge of the mahogany desk. "If they get a warrant for the east wing... if they find the blood on the baseboards in the guest room..."
Smack.
Margaret rose with astonishing speed and slapped her son directly across his face. The sharp crack echoed in the bright, sunlit room. Daniel stumbled back, holding his rosy cheek in shock.
"Get a hold of yourself," Margaret commanded, her eyes narrowing into twin slits of pure malice. "The police do not have a warrant for the east wing. The coroner’s report still states accidental drowning. I paid him half a million dollars to ensure that timeline holds. As long as Emma believes it was a tragic accident following an argument, she won't know to look under the floorboards."
Vanessa sank onto a velvet sofa, trembling. "But she knows we hit her. She knows we lied about the timeline of our flight. Emma isn't going to stop, Margaret. She looked at us like she wanted us dead."
"Emma is a grieving, hysterical woman," Margaret stated coldly, adjusting her pearl necklace. "She is fragile. We will use that against her. I have already contacted our legal team. We are filing an injunction against her, claiming she is suffering a psychotic break and poses a danger to herself and this family. We will have her committed."
"Will a judge actually sign that?" Daniel asked, desperate for a lifeline.
"Judge Harrison owes me his career," Margaret smiled, a chilling, deeply satisfied expression. "He will sign whatever I put in front of him. By tomorrow morning, Emma will be locked in a psychiatric ward, heavily sedated. And we will have plenty of time to bleach the east wing."
Outside the study, the heavy oak doors stood closed. But the house was old, and the air vents carried sound perfectly into the adjoining sunroom.
May you like
Emma stood silently in the bright, sun-drenched corridor, her back pressed flat against the floral wallpaper. She had let herself in through the service entrance. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but her mind was terrifyingly clear. She had heard everything. The blood on the baseboards. The bribed coroner. The plot to have her committed.
Emma turned and walked silently back the way she came. She didn't have until tomorrow. She had tonight.
