Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Mansion
The Moore mansion felt less like a home and more like a mausoleum. Mark, Agnes, and Claire sat in the grand library—the very room where Rebecca had overheard their murderous plot months prior. The luxury that used to comfort them now felt mocking.
"We are ruined," Agnes rocked back and forth on the velvet sofa, clutching her rosary. "We have nothing! The credit cards declined at the restaurant this morning. The servants have all walked out because Arthur Vance froze the payroll accounts!"
"Shut up, Mother!" Mark slammed his glass of scotch onto the mahogany table. "We just need to find where she hid the backup files. Rebecca was smart, but she was sentimental. She wouldn't have just given everything to Arthur. She must have kept a copy of her true intentions, or a loophole, here in the house."
Claire paced by the window, chewing her lip. "Mark, the police have been circling the block all afternoon. The private lab that analyzed Rebecca’s vitamins? They’ve been subpoenaed. If they trace those chemicals back to your mother’s black-market contacts, we aren't just looking at losing a fortune—we are looking at life in prison for conspiracy to commit murder."
"Then we destroy the evidence," Mark said, his eyes wild. "We find Rebecca’s personal laptop. We find her journals. We burn this place to the ground if we have to."
But as Mark stood up, the lights in the library flickered.
The grand grandfather clock in the corner began to chime—not on the hour, but randomly, striking thirteen heavy, echoing tolls.
"What is wrong with the wiring in this place?" Agnes shrieked, jumping to her feet.
Suddenly, the large flat-screen television on the library wall hissed to life. There was no static, just a clear, crisp video feed. The background of the video was unmistakable: it was this exact library, filmed from a hidden camera nestled inside the bookshelf.
On the screen, a video began to play. It was the footage from four months ago.
On the screen, Agnes’s voice rang out clearly: "Then keep Rebecca weak. Her pregnancy is already high-risk. Accidents happen. Make sure she keeps taking those vitamins."
Mark’s on-screen persona replied: "I can’t stand her anymore. Claire is tired of hiding. She wants this over."
Claire gasped, covering her mouth. "She recorded us. She didn't just hear us—she recorded us!"
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A text prompt appeared at the bottom of the video screen, typing itself out in real-time: I am always watching you.
The trio stood frozen in absolute terror. Rebecca was dead, lying in a hospital morgue, yet her presence filled the room like a suffocating fog. The ghost of the woman they had tried to kill was systematically dismantling their lives from beyond the grave.
