Chapter 4 - The Black Box in the Attic
The rain had turned into a steady, freezing drizzle by the time I returned to my house in Silver Creek.
The crime scene tape fluttering around the front porch was soaked through, sticking to the white wooden railings like wet gauze. Two state trooper vehicles were parked in the driveway, their engines idling to keep the heaters running.
I walked up the front steps.
Investigator Kane met me at the door. His uniform jacket was wet, and his face looked ten years older than it had four hours ago.
“Vance is in custody at the regional trauma center,” Kane said, stepping aside to let me enter the warm hallway. “FBI agents are currently raiding Vance Logistics headquarters in downtown Columbus. They’ve already seized three servers.”
“What about my mother and Derek?” I asked, wiping the mud from my boots.
“Derek confessed to everything in the back of the cruiser,” Kane said, shaking his head in utter disgust. “He broke down the second Miller’s arrest warrant was issued. He admitted that Vance promised him a hundred thousand dollars to retrieve the drive. He admitted to striking Clara during the struggle.”
Kane paused, looking down at his clipboard. “Your mother was formally charged an hour ago as an accessory to murder after the fact and obstruction of justice. Beatrice’s funeral home license has been revoked, and she’s being held without bail at the county jail.”
I stood in the center of the foyer. The house was quiet now. The casket had been removed by the county coroner’s office for a full forensic examination. The folding chairs were gone.
Only the ghost of Clara’s presence remained—the faint scent of her lavender perfume lingering near the hallway coat rack.
“I need to go upstairs, Marcus,” I said softly.
“Go ahead,” Kane replied gently. “Take whatever you need. We’re done with the attic.”
I climbed the narrow stairs to the third floor, bypassing the master bedroom where forensic technicians had marked the floor with yellow tape. I opened the small wooden door at the end of the hall that led to the attic.
The attic was a cozy, cedar-paneled room that Clara had turned into a playroom for Lily. Framed drawings of horses and sunshine hung on the sloped walls. In the corner sat a massive, four-story handmade dollhouse that I had built for Lily’s fifth birthday.
I knelt in front of the dollhouse.
I opened the tiny wooden front doors, looking into the miniature living room. Sitting on the tiny dining table was a heavy, black titanium USB drive—no larger than a stick of chewing gum.
Clara had hidden it right in plain sight.
I picked up the drive. It was cool to the touch, heavy for its size, bearing a tiny serial number laser-etched into the metal casing.
This was the key. The master encrypted drive I had transported from Chicago three weeks ago, completely unaware that I was carrying the evidence that would ultimately tear my family apart and cost my wife her life.
I tucked the drive into my pocket, sat down on the hardwood floor of the attic, and let my back rest against the wooden frame of the dollhouse.
For the first time in three days, the adrenaline that had sustained me drained away completely.
I covered my face with my rough, gloved hands and wept.
I cried for the three days I had been away on that useless highway while my wife was terrorized in her own home. I cried for the mother who had traded her daughter-in-law’s life for country club prestige. I cried for the brother who had let greed curdle his soul.
And most of all, I cried for my little girl, who had sat in a dark kitchen, listening to her mother scream, holding a stuffed rabbit over her ears so she wouldn't feel the horror.
I don't know how long I sat there in the dark attic.
Eventually, the soft patter of boots on the stairs broke the silence.
I opened my eyes.
Samuel stood in the doorway, holding a thermos of hot coffee. He walked over, sat down on the floor beside me, and handed me a steaming paper cup.
“Lily is asleep at my house,” Samuel said softly, his voice gravelly with fatigue. “My wife made her some hot chocolate. Your dad is resting in the guest room. He’s stable, Alex.”
I took a sip of the bitter coffee, letting the warmth spread through my chest. “Did she say anything before she went to sleep?”
Samuel smiled faintly—a tired, sad smile. “She said she knew you were going to fix it. She told my wife that her daddy was the strongest man in the world.”
I wiped my eyes with the back of my sleeve. “I failed her, Samuel. I was five hundred miles away when Clara needed me.”
“You didn't fail anyone,” Samuel snapped, his voice firming up. “Vance is a monster. Derek is a rat. You brought the truth to light, Alex. Clara’s name is clean. The whole state knows what happened now. The local news channel is running a live broadcast from Vance Manor right now.”
I looked at the black USB drive sitting in my palm.
May you like
“This drive is going straight to the United States Attorney’s Office in Cincinnati tomorrow morning,” I said. “No deals. No plea bargains. Everyone involved goes down.”
“Good,” Samuel said, standing up and extending a hand to pull me to my feet. “Now let’s go home. Your daughter is waiting for you.”
