Chapter 2 - The Secret Beneath the Wood
Maisie’s tiny hand slipped into mine. She pressed a small, cold object deep into my palm, curling my fingers over it so no one else could see.
I didn't open my hand. I squeezed it tight, feeling the hard, metallic edges of what felt like a heavy brass key attached to a small, laminated memory card.
“Maisie, what are you talking about?” I whispered, keeping my body positioned so my back blocked Nolan and my mother from seeing us.
“Grandma is lying!” Maisie suddenly cried out, her voice breaking through the solemn quiet of the funeral parlor. She pointed her small finger straight at my mother. “Uncle Nolan broke the door! He hurt Mommy, and Grandma took her phone!”
A collective gasp echoed through the living room. Relatives stood frozen, coffee cups hovering near their lips.
Nolan’s face turned from flushed red to a ghostly, sickly white. He took two fast steps toward us. “She’s confused! Ethan, don't listen to her! The kid’s been hysterical for forty-eight hours! She watched her mother die of a heart attack, she’s imagining things!”
“She isn't imagining anything!” I roared, standing up and placing Maisie firmly behind my legs. My heart was pounding like a sledgehammer against my ribs.
My mother rushed forward, her hands fluttering frantically. “Ethan, please! Think of the family! Look at your father, he’s upset! Maisie spent the night in a house with a deceased body, her mind is playing tricks on her!”
I knelt back down, gripping Maisie’s small shoulders gently. “Maisie, look at me. Look at Daddy. Tell me only what you remember. What happened to Mommy?”
Maisie clung to my lapels, her voice shaking violently. “Mommy called your name... over and over. She was in the third-floor study. Uncle Nolan came up and he was screaming at her about money. He said she was going to ruin everything. Mommy tried to run out, but Uncle Nolan pushed her back into the room! He broke the lock! Then Grandma came up the stairs and locked the hallway door from the outside, and Mommy cried all night... and then she stopped making noise.”
Every drop of blood drained from my face.
I looked at Nolan. My younger brother—the golden child who had driven three separate business ventures into bankruptcy, the son my mother constantly bailed out using my father’s life savings.
Nolan’s eyes darted toward the front door, his hands trembling. I noticed, for the first time, a long, angry red scratch running down his right jawline, partially hidden by his dress shirt collar. A defensive wound. Laura’s nails.
“You son of a bitch,” I breathed.
“Ethan, don't you dare accuse your brother of something so monstrous!” my mother shrieked, stepping between us. “Laura was sick! She was taking medication!”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
My father hit his wheelchair armrest again. With supreme, agonizing effort, his left hand reached down into the narrow gap beneath the leather cushion of his chair. He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and dropped it onto the floor.
Aunt Barbara lunged forward to grab it, but I was faster. I scooped up the paper.
It was a printed property deed. My father’s hand-written signature was at the bottom, but above it, in Nolan’s sloppy handwriting, was a newly added clause transferring the entire title of our Maple Hollow property—and the surrounding forty acres of commercial timberland—to a shell corporation registered in Nolan’s name.
Dated four days ago. The exact day I left town.
“He tried to make your father sign it,” a soft, trembling voice called out from the hallway.
It was Mrs. Gable, our elderly neighbor who had come over to bring food. She stood near the dining room door, her apron clutched in her hands. “I came over on Tuesday evening to bring a pie, Ethan. I heard shouting on the third floor. I saw Nolan dragging your mother into the study. When I asked what was happening, Diane told me to leave and mind my own business. I... I was too scared to say anything with all these people here...”
Aunt Barbara raised her voice, her tone turning venomous. “Mrs. Gable, you are a senile old gossip! Ethan, I am the licensed funeral director in charge of this arrangement! If you continue this insane spectacle in front of your grieving family, I will have you removed from your own property!”
I pulled my smartphone from my pocket.
“Try it, Barbara,” I said, my voice dropping into a register so cold, so terrifyingly calm that the room went dead silent. “A family secret stops being private when someone is harmed.”
I dialed 911, pressing the phone to my ear.
“Fairmont Police Department, what is your emergency?” the dispatcher answered.
“My name is Ethan Vance,” I said, locking eyes with my brother. “I am at 412 Willow Street. I am reporting a homicide, illegal confinement, and corporate fraud. Send every unit you have.”
Nolan took a sudden step toward the back kitchen staircase.
“Nobody moves,” I barked, stepping into the hallway, blocking the stairs. “Nobody goes up. Nobody touches a single thing in this house.”
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Nolan froze on the bottom step. He lowered his eyes, avoiding my gaze. But as he turned his head, the light from the chandelier caught his cheek, illuminating the three distinct, deep red scratch marks trailing down his neck.
In the distance, the first faint sound of wailing police sirens cut through the quiet afternoon air of Maple Hollow.
