Chapter 18 - The Sister’s Confession
The carriage house was hidden three hundred yards down the wooded slope, concealed beneath dense pine boughs. Inside sat a nondescript, mud-spattered four-wheel-drive utility truck Daniel had prepped days earlier.
We tumbled out of the tunnel entrance, gasping for clean air. The mountain night was frigid, the scent of pine needles replacing the stinging tear gas. Down below in the valley, sirens were wailing in the distance—state police responding to the automated distress signal Daniel had triggered before we abandoned the main house.
Noah was trembling in my arms, exhausted from crying, his little face flushed against my collarbone. Julian wrapped his wool coat around us both, his eyes wild with adrenaline.
"Everyone get in the truck," Daniel ordered, hotwiring the ignition. "We have less than twenty minutes before Marcus’s drones locate this vehicle."
Before Julian could climb into the passenger seat, a smartphone in his pocket buzzed violently. It was an encrypted satellite frequency Daniel had set up for secure communications.
Julian pulled it out. "It's an incoming video link. Originating from... Marcus's penthouse in Manhattan."
"Put it on speaker," Victoria said, settling into the backseat beside Noah and me, her weapon still resting across her knees.
Julian tapped the screen. The video flickered to life.
The image that appeared was not Marcus.
It was my sister, Vanessa.
She was sitting tied to an ornate gilded chair, her face bruised, her expensive designer dress torn at the shoulder, tears cutting tracks through her smeared mascara. Behind her stood two men in suits, their faces obscured by the shadows.
"Kallie..." Vanessa sobbed into the camera, her voice breaking with raw, hysterical terror. "Kallie, please... please don't let them kill me!"
The sight of my sister—the same woman who had coldly slapped my three-year-old child at our family dining table only two weeks ago—sent a jolt of conflicting agony through my chest.
"Vanessa?" I choked out, leaning toward the phone. "Where are you?"
"I’m sorry, Kallie! I’m so sorry!" Vanessa cried, shaking violently. "The dinner... the slap... Marcus made me do it! He told me if I didn't create a scene to let his operative grab Noah’s DNA swab from his cheek, he would execute David and dump his body in the river! I didn't want to hurt Noah! I swear to God, Kallie, I hit him because Marcus’s man was right behind me holding a gun under his jacket!"
Julian cursed under his breath. Victoria’s face remained an unyielding mask of stone.
"Where is Marcus, Vanessa?" Julian demanded.
Before Vanessa could answer, a hand reached into the frame and yanked her head back by her hair. A man stepped forward into the dim light. It was Marcus Sterling, looking impeccably groomed, a crystal glass of whiskey in his hand.
"Julian. Grandmother. And dear Kallie," Marcus said, his voice dripping with venomous charm. "Did you enjoy the fireworks at Timber Ridge? A modest demonstration of my resolve."
"You violated the Sterling code, Marcus," Victoria said into the phone, her voice cold enough to freeze fire. "You brought violence to family land."
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Marcus laughed, a dry, hollow sound. "The code died when you refused to die five years ago, old woman. Here are the terms: Tomorrow morning, ten o'clock. The Manhattan Central Depository. Bring the boy. Allow the biometric scan to release the trust shares to my control. Do that, and your sister Vanessa walks out alive. Refuse, or involve the federal authorities, and she will be delivered to you in pieces."
The screen went black.