Chapter 4 - SECRETS BENEATH THE FLOORBOARDS
The phone call from Detective Reynolds came at 3:00 PM on a Tuesday. The sky over Portland was an iron gray, weeping a slow, steady drizzle that matched the heavy dread settling in my chest.
"Elmer," Reynolds said, his voice unusually strained. "We found something. You need to come to the house. I know you shouldn't be here, but given the circumstances... you need to see this."
I arranged for my neighbor, a retired kindergarten teacher named Mrs. Gable who had already taken a shine to Sophie, to watch her for a few hours. I drove to the property I owned, the house I had let my son live in rent-free, with white knuckles gripping the steering wheel.
The street was blocked off by yellow crime scene tape. News vans were parked haphazardly on the sidewalks, reporters huddled under umbrellas, cameras flashing as I pulled into the driveway. The story had broken wide open. 'The Girl in the Attic' they were calling it. The media circus had descended, hungry for the macabre details of a wealthy, attractive couple hiding a child like a dirty secret.
I ducked under the tape, flashing my ID to the uniformed officer, and walked through the front door.
The house was unrecognizable. The pristine white furniture Trisha had prized was shoved aside, covered in plastic tarp. Forensics teams in white Tyvek suits moved methodically through the rooms, dusting for prints, cutting away sections of carpet.
Reynolds met me in the hallway. He didn't offer a greeting, just gestured for me to follow him. We bypassed the attic stairs, much to my relief, and headed down into the unfinished basement. The air down here was damp and smelled of old concrete and mildew.
In the far corner, near the water heater, a section of the concrete floor had been jackhammered away. Floodlights illuminated the ragged hole in the earth.
My heart seized. "Is it... is she..."
"No," Reynolds said quickly, placing a steadying hand on my shoulder. "No bodies, Elmer. But we found a lockbox buried under the foundation. The concrete poured over it was newer than the rest of the floor. Maybe five, six years old."
He led me to a folding table where an evidence technician was carefully examining the contents of a rusted metal lockbox. Inside were several items sealed in clear plastic bags.
A silver locket. A stack of Polaroid photographs. And a leather-bound journal.
I recognized the locket instantly. I had given it to Maya for her high school graduation. It had a tiny picture of the two of us inside.
"The journal," Reynolds said softly. "It's Maya's. We've only read through a few pages, but... Elmer, it outlines everything."
My hands shook as I reached for the plastic bag containing the journal, stopping just short of touching it. "Tell me."
Reynolds sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "According to the entries, Maya and Dennis had an affair shortly after Dennis married Trisha. Dennis manipulated her, told her he was leaving Trisha, that he loved her. When Maya got pregnant, Dennis panicked. He tried to force her to get an abortion, but she refused. She was going to tell you, Elmer. She was going to tell you everything."
The room spun. My son. My own flesh and blood had preyed on a vulnerable young woman who trusted him, who had grown up viewing him as a protector.
"Trisha found out," Reynolds continued, his voice monotone, reciting the facts of a nightmare. "She discovered the pregnancy. But instead of leaving Dennis, they formed a plan. Trisha's family was wealthy, but they had cut her off due to her spending habits. Dennis was broke. They knew about Maya's trust fund. They cornered Maya."
The technician pointed to a specific page in the journal, photographed and displayed on a nearby tablet. The handwriting was frantic, terrified.
They won't let me leave. Dennis took my phone. Trisha says if I tell Elmer, she'll tell the police I stole from her family, that she'll ruin me. They want the baby. They want the money. I'm so scared. He locked the basement door.
"They kept her down here," I whispered, the realization crashing over me like a tidal wave. I looked around the damp, windowless basement. "They kept her here while she was pregnant."
"It appears so," Reynolds said gently. "We found traces of blood on the concrete near the drain. Old blood. We're testing it now, but... Elmer, we believe Maya gave birth down here. And we don't believe she survived it. Or, if she did, they didn't let her leave."
A sob tore out of my throat, raw and agonizing. I sank against the damp concrete wall, sliding down until I hit the floor. The image of Maya, alone, terrified, giving birth in the cold, damp dark while the man who fathered her child and his monstrous wife waited upstairs, was too much to bear.
They had taken her money. They had taken her life. And then, when the child was born, they realized they couldn't explain her. They couldn't explain a half-Asian baby appearing out of nowhere. So they hid Sophie. First in the basement, and as she grew older and quieter, in the attic.
When I finally drove home, the rain had stopped, but the cold had settled deep into my bones.
I walked into my living room. Sophie was sitting on the rug, petting my old golden retriever, Barnaby. She looked up when I entered. For the first time since I found her, she didn't flinch away.
She stood up, walked over to me, and wrapped her small, fragile arms around my legs.
May you like
"I'm sorry you're sad, Grandpa," she whispered perfectly, the first full sentence she had spoken to me.
I dropped to my knees and pulled her into my arms, burying my face in her shoulder as I finally let the tears fall freely. I would burn their world to the ground for what they did to Maya. But for Sophie, I would build a new one.
