Chapter 3 - The Ghost from Overseas
The mention of Marcus’s name seemed to physically drain what little composure Patricia had left. She slid down the side of the metal examination table until she hit the linoleum floor, curling her arms around her knees like a frightened child.
“You can’t call him,” Patricia whimpered, staring blankly at the spotless white floor tiles. “Marcus is... he’s thousands of miles away. He’s in a conflict zone. He doesn't want anything to do with this family after what happened with Daniel.”
“He never abandoned us, Mom,” I said, my voice cutting through her tears with clinical precision. “You cut him off. You changed our phone numbers, intercepted his letters, and told the neighbors he was unstable because you were terrified he would see right through Edward’s lies.”
Detective Vance pulled her department-issued smartphone from her coat pocket, already tapping rapidly on the screen. “I don't need your mother’s permission to contact next of kin or emergency legal guardians in cases of severe domestic abuse and financial exploitation. If Dr. Sterling is a legal relative, I can pull his current diplomatic and military deployment status through federal channels in less than ten minutes.”
“Do it,” Clara urged, leaning forward. “Please. He’s the only one who has the cryptographic keys to unlock the secondary tier of Dad’s trust. Edward and Mom only accessed the surface layers.”
As Detective Vance stepped out into the hallway to make the encrypted call, the heavy door clicked shut behind her, leaving us alone with our mother.
The silence in the room was thick and suffocating. The hum of the medical monitors felt like a countdown clock.
“You hated us, didn't you?” Clara asked quietly, looking down at Patricia. Her voice wasn't angry anymore; it was entirely hollow. “Every time Edward raised his hand, every time you turned up the television volume to drown out the noise... you weren't just scared of him. You blamed us for trapping you in this life.”
Patricia looked up, her mascara streaked across her cheeks, her hair tangled and wild. “I loved your father, girls. You don't know what it was like after he died. The bills were stacking up. Edward promised he would fix everything. He promised he would keep us safe.”
“Safe?” I laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and humorless. “He locked us in our rooms, starved us of medical care, and beat us until our skin turned purple. That wasn't safety, Mom. That was an execution chamber.”
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Before Patricia could answer, the door swung open. Detective Vance walked back in, but she wasn't alone. A tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark civilian overcoat stepped in behind her. He had silver-streaked dark hair, sharp, intelligent eyes that mirrored my father’s, and a posture that screamed military discipline.
Dr. Marcus Sterling had arrived.
