Chapter 10 - The Sister in the Woods
My breath caught in my throat. The phone felt suddenly heavy in my hand, burning against my palm like hot coals.
I stared at the screen, reading the words over and over again until the digital letters blurred together. They didn't just burn your apartment, Claire. They burned hers first.
"Claire?" Reyes asked, noticing the sudden change in my posture. "What is it? Did someone else reach out?"
"My sister," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the hum of the idling patrol cars. "Chloe."
Reyes frowned, pulling out his notepad. "Your sister? I thought you only had a brother, Miles. You didn't mention a sister."
"She left ten years ago," I said, a cold dread coiling tightly in my stomach. "Mom and Dad said she cut ties with the family because she was ungrateful and rebellious. They told everyone she moved to London, got married, and never wanted anything to do with us again. I hadn't heard her voice in a decade."
"And that's her in the photo?" Agent Vance asked, stepping over from the federal sedan where he had just secured my mother inside. He looked over my shoulder at the phone screen.
"I... I think so," I stammered, zooming in on the pixelated figure standing near the dark treeline at the edge of the property. The woman in the photo was wearing a dark trench coat, her face half-hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat, watching the police lights flash against the colonial house with chilling stillness. "If that's Chloe... what was she doing here? And what did the text mean about her apartment?"
Agent Vance’s expression hardened instantly. He pulled out his own secure radio and signaled his partner.
"Run a cross-reference on any structural fires reported in the Pacific Northwest over the last three years under the name Chloe Whitman, or any known aliases," Vance commanded into the radio. "Check insurance payouts tied to shell companies associated with Arthur and Emma Whitman."
"Agent Vance," I said, grabbing his arm. "What are you saying? My parents wouldn't burn my sister's place down. Why would they?"
"Insurance fraud, Ms. Whitman," Vance said grimly. "If your sister owned property, and that property was heavily insured under a policy managed by your parents' corporate entities... a convenient fire is a very effective way to bail out failing shell companies."
My knees felt weak. I looked back at the colonial house, then over at my father, who was still standing numbly on the patio, staring blankly at the ground as if his entire existence had been erased.
They weren't just corrupt. They weren't just domestic tyrants. They were a systematic enterprise, chewing up their own children for profit.
"Find her," I told Vance, my voice hardening into absolute resolve. "Find out where Chloe is."
Before Vance could reply, my phone buzzed again in my hand. Another text from the same encrypted number.
May you like
This time, it wasn't a photo. It was an address in downtown Portland.
And a single sentence: Meet me at the pier in one hour. Come alone.
