Chapter 14 - The Empty Room
The tires screeched against the slush on the asphalt as Jason hurled our SUV into the parking lot of Maple Grove Senior Community. The flashing amber lights of a private security vehicle painted the snowdrifts in frantic, rhythmic pulses. My chest felt so tight I could barely draw breath, the half-torn deed from the attic clutched in my fist like a lifeline or a curse.
"Stay close to me, Emma," Jason said, cutting the engine and grabbing my hand. His knuckles were white. "We don't know who picked her up or what game she's playing."
We pushed through the double glass doors. The lobby, usually sterile and quiet with the soft hum of daytime television, was in total disarray. Two orderlies stood near the nurses' station, speaking in hushed, nervous whispers, while Mrs. Gable, the head administrator, paced behind the front desk with a clipboard clutched to her chest.
When she saw me, her face drained of color. "Mrs. Miller. Thank God you're here. The police have been notified, but because Carol signed the voluntary release form alongside her designated attorney, their hands are legally tied until an official welfare alert clears."
"What attorney?" I demanded, my voice shaking with fury and terror. "My mother didn't have an independent attorney. I handle her medical proxy, and Jason handles her secondary estate filings! Who took her?"
Mrs. Gable swallowed hard and slid a blue carbon-copy form across the counter. "A gentleman arrived at four-fifteen. He presented a notarized enduring power of attorney dated back to 2014, signed by your late father before his passing. He called himself Marcus Vance."
The room seemed to tilt. *Vance.* That was my maiden name, but my father had no surviving brothers.
"Take me to her room," I whispered.
Carol's room on the second floor was pristine, almost unnervingly tidy. The floral bedspread had been smoothed down with clinical precision. Her coat, her medications, and her silver vanity set were gone. But on the center of the wooden dining table sat a single, unsealed ivory envelope. Written across the front in my mother's shaky, unmistakable cursive was one word: *Lily*.
I crossed the room on trembling legs. Jason reached out to stop me, but I pulled away and ripped the envelope open. Inside was a small brass key and a handwritten note:
*“Emma, you think you found the truth in the attic, but you only found the trigger. Marcus wasn’t your father’s brother; he was Richard Sterling’s private liquidator. If they take Lily’s signature before midnight on New Year's Eve, the bakery, the house, and everything your father bled for will be erased. I took what was mine to keep them away from her. Don't look for me at the house. Look where the dough used to rise before the fire.”*
May you like
I lowered the note, my heart pounding in my ears. "The old foundry," I whispered to Jason. "The original bakery beneath the river bridge."
***