Chapter 7
We replayed the video until sunrise.
The shadow behind Mom was too dark to identify.
But a reflection appeared in the window.
A man’s hand.
He wore a heavy silver ring shaped like a bull.
Rebecca stared at it.
“Thomas has worn that ring since college.”
Noah hid behind me.
“Uncle Thomas hurt Mom?”
“We don’t know,” I said.
But my voice shook.
Rebecca called Laura.
Her phone had been disconnected.
At eight, the company announced she had resigned.
At nine, her husband reported her missing.
Officer Ruiz met us at a coffee shop away from the station.
She watched the video and copied the files.
“Project Bluebird was a secret audit Sarah created,” Rebecca explained.
“The missing money totals nearly twelve million dollars.”
Ruiz looked at the authorizations.
“If Daniel’s key was used, prosecutors will say he participated.”
“Then why would he kill Sarah?” I asked.
“To keep her from exposing him.”
That was exactly the story Melissa wanted police to believe.
Ruiz promised to find Laura.
When we left, a reporter was waiting beside Rebecca’s SUV.
“Emma, did your father murder your mother?”
Rebecca blocked the camera.
I kept walking.
The reporter shouted another question.
“Did Daniel Carter abuse you and your brother?”
I turned around.
“No. Melissa did.”
Rebecca tried to stop me.
I looked straight into the camera.
“My stepmother beat an eight-year-old child. Sergeant Cole Mercer took the recording and hid it. Ask him why.”
The interview spread across Dallas within hours.
Mercer was placed on administrative leave.
Then the police department announced that the memory card had been damaged before officers recovered it.
I knew that was a lie.
That night, someone released family photographs showing Dad arguing with Mom weeks before her death.
The photographs made him look violent.
I remembered the argument.
Mom had wanted us to leave town.
Dad thought she was overreacting.
Aunt Rebecca’s neighbors began receiving calls saying she was hiding dangerous children.
The next morning, a brick crashed through her front window.
A note was tied around it.
SARAH SHOULD HAVE LISTENED.
Noah crawled under the kitchen table.
Rebecca wanted to move us to a hotel.
I refused.
“Running is what they want.”
“You’re fifteen.”
“And Mom left that video for us.”
We returned to the bluebird mosaic during daylight.
Crime-scene technicians had searched it, but Noah noticed scratches on another tile.
Behind it, we found a tiny brass key.
No box.
No note.
Only the key.
Rebecca recognized the number engraved on it.
It belonged to an old train-station locker in downtown Dallas.
The station had been renovated, but several original lockers remained in storage.
Ruiz arranged access.
The key opened locker 317.
Inside was Mom’s blue metal box.
I could barely breathe.
Rebecca lifted it onto a table.
Before she could open it, the fire alarm sounded.
Workers hurried toward the exits.
Ruiz drew her weapon.
“Stay behind me.”
Smoke poured from a maintenance room.
A masked man appeared at the far end of the storage area.
He fired once.
The bullet struck the table.
Rebecca pulled Noah down.
Ruiz returned fire.
The man disappeared into the smoke.
I grabbed the blue box.
Someone seized me from behind.
A cloth covered my mouth.
I kicked backward and heard a grunt.
May you like
Then I saw the bull-shaped ring.
“Give me the box,” Uncle Thomas whispered, “or Noah won’t leave this building.”
