Chapter 3 - The Locked Guest Room
I called Reed immediately.
He confirmed the children were inside our hotel suite with two vetted officers and no sign of surveillance.
Then I contacted my Texas command and requested that our home security system be preserved as potential evidence.
I would not feed anyone's panic, least of all my own.
The photograph of the bedroom could have been old.
It could also mean an intruder had gained access to our home.
Both possibilities demanded action.
Marlowe met me outside the library.
“Someone is trying to intimidate me through my children,” I said.
I showed her the message, documenting its original receipt rather than forwarding an edited screenshot.
She called Pike over.
“We need your statement.”
Daniel emerged from the adjoining drawing room with his attorney on speakerphone.
He stopped when he saw us talking.
“Of course,” he said.
“You orchestrated this.”
“Daniel, I came because you invited me.”
“You arrived in uniform with four children and federal investigators.”
“The investigators did not travel with me.”
He glanced at Marlowe.
I watched him realize that she wasn't taking instruction from either of us.
Margaret appeared and demanded that I enter an upstairs guest room so we could settle the matter without witnesses.
I refused until she offered to bring me copies of old correspondence she claimed proved my pregnancy had never been mentioned.
That claim made me curious enough to follow, with Marlowe aware of my location.
The guest room smelled of cedar and expensive perfume.
Margaret pulled a sealed envelope from a bureau.
“You could have avoided all this if you had shown restraint,” she said.
“I showed restraint for eight years.”
She handed me a photocopy of a letter bearing my signature.
It said I would never pursue financial support and that Daniel had no parental obligations.
I examined the date.
It was from the month I had been hospitalized for pregnancy complications.
“I did not write this.”
“That's convenient.”
“I have the original hospital records.”
Margaret reached for the letter, but I photographed it first.
Then the hallway door clicked.
Margaret looked startled.
She crossed to the handle and tried it.
The door would not open.
Someone had locked us inside.
For a second I believed she had staged the trick.
Then her phone buzzed, and the color drained from her face.
She read the message without speaking.
“Who is it?” I asked.
She turned the screen away.
I heard a hurried step beyond the door, followed by something heavy being dragged across the carpet.
I called the security chief and gave our location.
A moment later the lights went out.
Margaret whispered a name I had not heard in almost a decade.
“Patrick.”
When the backup lights flickered on, I saw that she had hidden a second envelope behind the dresser.
Across its front were four handwritten names.
Noah.
Ethan.
Sophia.
May you like
Olivia.
