Chapter 6 - The Sister Who Chose the Wrong SideThe phone trace placed Claire near an abandoned boat repair facility south of the Elizabeth River.
Thick black clouds rolled above the trees while fire engines blocked half the street.
My parents’ house—my childhood home—burned behind a wall of orange flame.
I tried opening the SUV door before it stopped.
Keene caught my arm.
“You’re injured.”
“My mother is inside.”
“We don’t know that.”
“That isn’t better.”
Firefighters rushed between the yard and the structure.
The front windows exploded outward.
I heard someone shout.
Then two firefighters emerged from the side entrance carrying a woman.
“Mom!”
I ran.
Every step stabbed beneath my ribs.
They lowered her onto a stretcher.
Her face was blackened with soot.
But she was conscious.
“Rachel?”
“I’m here.”
She grabbed my wrist.
“They came for the box.”
“What box?”
“Your grandmother’s box.”
Paramedics placed an oxygen mask over her face.
I looked at Ruiz.
“What happened?”
Mom pulled the mask aside.
“Two men came through the back door. They kept asking where Evelyn’s files were.”
“Did you recognize them?”
“One.”
“Who?”
Her eyes filled with terror.
“Victor Sloan.”
Keene turned immediately.
“Where did he go?”
“I don’t know.”
Mom clutched my hand tighter.
“Rachel, your father knew.”
I bent closer.
“Knew what?”
“The fire. He called me from jail.”
“What did he say?”
“Leave the house.”
Cold spread through me.
“When?”
“Twenty minutes before those men arrived.”
My father had warned her.
That meant he knew something was coming.
Maybe he had ordered it.
Maybe he had lost control of it.
Either way, this was bigger than a family argument.
The fire destroyed Dad’s office, the upstairs bedrooms, and most of the attic.
But one thing survived.
A metal cashbox hidden behind drywall in the basement.
Firefighters found it while checking structural damage.
Inside were old bank statements, USB drives, and a notebook written in Grandma’s unmistakable handwriting.
One sentence had been underlined twice:
Harold thinks the money is the danger. He still doesn’t understand the names are worse.
Names.
The USB drives were encrypted.
The FBI took them.
Mom spent the night under observation for smoke inhalation.
I stayed beside her.
At 2:00 a.m., she finally told me the truth about my father.
Not the whole truth.
Nobody had the whole truth yet.
But enough.
Hart Construction had started failing nearly a decade earlier.
Dad covered losses by borrowing.
When banks stopped lending, Victor Sloan introduced him to investors who demanded favors in return.
Inflated contracts.
False invoices.
Shell subcontractors.
Dad convinced himself he was merely keeping employees working.
Then the numbers grew.
By the time Grandma discovered what was happening, Dad couldn’t escape without exposing himself.
“She told him to go to authorities,” Mom said.
“What did he say?”
“That she didn’t understand business.”
Of course.
Grandma responded by quietly copying everything she could find.
Dad discovered part of it.
That’s when their relationship collapsed.
“And Claire?”
Mom closed her eyes.
“Your father told her the company belonged to her someday.”
That explained more than I wanted it to.
Claire had spent her entire adult life chasing Dad’s approval.
I had escaped.
She had stayed.
He rewarded her with responsibility, then trapped her inside his crimes.
It didn’t excuse what she had done.
But it explained the shape of it.
At dawn, Detective Ruiz called.
“Victor Sloan’s car was found.”
“Where?”
“Marina parking lot.”
“Victor?”
“Gone.”
“Boat?”
“Also gone.”
I sat straighter.
“Running?”
“Possibly.”
Her tone told me there was more.
“What?”
“We reviewed security footage from Mercer’s office burglary.”
“And?”
“One burglar removed the estate file.”
“Yes.”
“The second person stayed near the door.”
“Who?”
“Your sister.”
I closed my eyes.
Claire had lied again.
She hadn’t simply known about the forged trust.
She had participated in stealing Grandma’s will.
Ruiz continued.
“We have a warrant.”
“Where is she?”
“That’s the problem.”
Claire’s phone had been found in her apartment.
Her car sat outside.
Her purse was on the kitchen counter.
She was gone.
For six hours, police searched.
At 11:43 a.m., I received a call from an unknown number.
I answered.
Silence.
Then Claire whispered:
“Rachel?”
I stood.
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Are you safe?”
“No.”
Her breathing shook.
“I didn’t know they would hurt you.”
“Who?”
“Victor.”
My pulse quickened.
“Claire, listen carefully. Are you with him?”
“I ran.”
“Where?”
“He thinks Grandma gave you something.”
“The ledger?”
“No.”
“What?”
Claire began crying.
“A list.”
“What list?”
“The people Dad and Victor paid.”
Footsteps sounded faintly through the phone.
Claire gasped.
“Rachel, I’m sorry.”
“Claire?”
“If they find me, don’t give them anything.”
A door slammed somewhere.
Then I heard a man’s voice.
Claire screamed.
The call disconnected.
For one second, I stared at the phone.
Then Captain Rachel Hart replaced Rachel the battered daughter.
I called Ruiz.
“I need a trace.”
“We’re already working it.”
Then I called Admiral Holloway.
He answered immediately.
“Rachel?”
“I need a favor.”
“What kind?”
“The kind you’re going to tell me I’m not authorized to ask for.”
A pause.
“That sounds expensive.”
“My sister may have been abducted near the Chesapeake waterfront.”
Another pause.
Then:
“Send me the number.”
Family had gotten me into this nightmare.
May you like
Now I was going to use every lawful resource I had to get my sister out.
Even if she had helped put me there.
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