Chapter 5 - The Midnight Drive
The rain hit the windshield in violent, angry sheets.
Daniel drove the SUV up the winding, treacherous mountain roads toward Lake Arrowhead. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his jaw locked in a rigid line of pure tension.
I sat in the passenger seat, staring at the brass key resting in my palm.
My head was spinning. Charles Westwood was my father. Daniel was my half-brother. Emma was my niece. And Vivian—the glamorous, terrifying woman who had ordered me to burn the family Bible—was the sister of Daniel’s dead wife, out for blood and billions.
“I didn't kill her,” Daniel said suddenly, his voice cracking the heavy silence in the car.
I looked at him. The dashboard lights cast deep, hollow shadows across his face.
“I loved Sarah,” Daniel whispered, his eyes fixed on the wet road. “We were arguing the night she died. She was upset. She got in her car and drove away angry. The police said the brake lines snapped due to rust. It was an old vintage Porsche. I never… I never touched those brakes, Lily. You have to believe me.”
I looked at the man beside me. A few hours ago, I was just his daughter’s tutor. Now, our blood tied us together in a nightmare.
“I believe you, Daniel,” I said softly. “But someone cut those brakes. And Arthur said Charles found out who did it. That’s why he was poisoned. Charles was going to expose the killer.”
“Vivian,” Daniel said bitterly. “She killed him to stop the truth from coming out, and now she wants the box so she can destroy the evidence.”
It made sense. It made perfect, terrifying sense.
But as I looked at the receipt from the private investigator, something didn't add up.
“Answer one, open two,” I muttered.
“What?” Daniel asked.
“If Vivian cut the brakes ten years ago to get her hands on the family money, why did she wait a decade to infiltrate the family? And why did Arthur have my mother’s pearl earrings?”
Daniel frowned, swerving slightly as a branch blew across the dark mountain road. “Arthur said my father found out about you three months ago.”
“Right,” I said, my pulse quickening. “But my mother died fourteen years ago. So how did Arthur get her earrings? He must have known her. He must have known about me long before Charles did.”
Daniel hit the brakes, the SUV skidding slightly on the wet asphalt before coming to a complete stop in the middle of the empty mountain road.
He turned to me, realization dawning in his eyes.
“Arthur,” Daniel breathed. “Arthur controlled my father’s security. Arthur handled the payoffs. Arthur was the one who investigated Sarah’s crash ten years ago and ruled it an accident.”
“Arthur has been pulling the strings the whole time,” I realized, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of my neck. “He wasn't Vivian’s victim. He’s her partner.”
Suddenly, the burner phone in Daniel’s pocket buzzed with a text message.
He pulled it out.
It was a photo from Vivian.
It showed Emma sitting in a wooden chair inside the summer cabin. She looked terrified, crying, her hands tied behind her back with thick rope.
Beneath the photo was a message: Ten minutes, Daniel. Or I light a match.
“Drive,” I said firmly, gripping the brass key until it bit into my palm. “We deal with Arthur later. Right now, we save Emma.”
Daniel slammed his foot on the gas.
We reached the dirt driveway of the Westwood summer cabin exactly nine minutes later. The cabin was a massive log structure set back in the dense pine trees, far from any neighbors. The windows glowed with a sickly yellow light.
Daniel grabbed a heavy steel flashlight from the center console. I kept the key in my pocket.
We ran through the freezing rain, our boots sinking into the mud.
Daniel kicked the heavy wooden door of the cabin open.
“Vivian!” he roared, raising the flashlight like a weapon. “I’m here! Let her go!”
The cabin was silent. A fire cracked in the large stone hearth, casting long, dancing shadows against the log walls.
I stepped in behind him, my eyes scanning the room.
In the center of the living room, sitting in the wooden chair we had seen in the photo, was a figure.
But it wasn't Emma.
Daniel and I froze in absolute shock.
Sitting in the chair, gagged with a piece of fabric, her hands bound tightly behind her back, was Vivian Cross.
Her mascara was running down her face in thick black streaks. Her perfect designer clothes were torn and muddy. Her eyes were wide with pure, unadulterated terror as she looked at us.
Daniel slowly lowered the flashlight.
I rushed forward and pulled the gag out of Vivian’s mouth.
She gasped for air, sobbing violently.
“Where is my daughter?!” Daniel screamed, grabbing Vivian by the shoulders. “Where is Emma?!”
“I didn't take her!” Vivian shrieked, tears streaming down her face. “I swear to god, Daniel, I didn't take her!”
“You sent me a picture of her tied to this chair!” Daniel yelled, shaking her.
“He made me!” Vivian cried, hyperventilating. “He made me send the text! He made me pose for a picture in the chair first to test the lighting, and then he tied me up and took her!”
I felt a sickening drop in my stomach.
“Who, Vivian?” I demanded. “Who took Emma? Was it Arthur?”
Vivian shook her head violently, her eyes darting around the dark corners of the cabin as if the devil himself were hiding in the shadows.
“No,” Vivian choked out, looking at Daniel with a horror that chilled me to the bone. “It was the man who killed your wife.”
Before Daniel could speak, the heavy wooden door of the cabin slammed shut behind us.
The loud click of a deadbolt sliding into place echoed through the room.
We spun around.
Standing by the door, dripping wet from the rain, holding a hunting rifle pointed directly at Daniel’s chest, was Thomas.
May you like
The groundskeeper.
“Hello, Daniel,” Thomas said, his voice entirely devoid of the weakness I had heard on the phone. His eyes were cold, dead, and utterly terrifying. “It’s been a long time.”
