Chapter 6 - THE CONFESSION IN THE DUCTWORK
I unfolded the thick, yellowed parchment on the kitchen table.
The overhead fluorescent light flickered once, casting long, jittery shadows across the room.
My mother wheeled herself closer, her glasses slipping down her nose as she read the bold lettering at the top.
AFFIDAVIT OF TRUTH AND COMPLICITY.
It was signed by Detective Arthur Vance? No—Detective Thomas Briggs.
The officer who had handled the initial hit-and-run investigation before mysteriously vanishing into an early retirement.
I read the words aloud, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I, Detective Thomas Briggs, hereby confess that on the night of October 14th, I was bribed the sum of fifty thousand dollars by Marcus Vance on behalf of his brother, Julian Vance, to suppress evidence regarding the hit-and-run accident on Maple Street.
The vehicle involved was a black sports car registered under Vance & Sterling Enterprises.
Furthermore, I was instructed to ignore eyewitness reports indicating the driver was under the influence of narcotics at the time of the collision.”
I stared at the paper.
My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the edges.
"He wasn't just speeding," I whispered, looking up at my mother. "He was high."
My mother wiped a tear from her cheek.
"Your father found this in the wreckage of the diner three days after the fire," she said softly. "He was going to take it to the state police, but then the brakes on his truck failed on the highway. He barely survived. After that... he hid it here, and we were too terrified to ever speak of it again."
The pieces clicked together with terrifying clarity.
The fire wasn't an accident.
The truck failure wasn't bad luck.
The Vance family had been hunting this document for twelve years.
And Marcus Vance had just walked out of our house thinking he had won because he found the decoy lockbox.
"He thinks he has everything," I said, folding the affidavit and slipping it inside my shirt pocket, right against my heart.
"Claire, what are you going to do?" my mother asked, her voice trembling with fear. "They are too powerful. They own judges, politicians, police departments."
"They don't own everyone, Mom," I said, pulling out Judge Pendelton's gold-embossed card from my apron pocket.
I walked over to the landline phone on the kitchen wall and punched in the ten-digit number.
It rang twice before a deep, calm voice answered.
"Pendelton speaking."
"Judge Pendelton," I said, trying to keep my voice from cracking. "My name is Claire Mendez. You gave me your card at the steakhouse tonight."
There was a brief pause on the other end.
"Ah, Miss Mendez. I remember you clearly. Are you alright? Did Julian Vance's associates contact you?"
"His brother just broke into my house," I said. "And I have the document they've been trying to murder my family to destroy for twelve years."
The line went dead silent for three seconds.
May you like
Then Judge Pendelton spoke, and his voice carried a terrifying, righteous authority.
"Lock your doors, Claire. Do not open them for anyone except federal marshals. I am sending a car right now."
