Chapter 4
I left the Miller house with two police officers, my father’s letter, and enough doubt to make me question every memory I had.
David followed me onto the porch.
“Hannah, please.”
I stopped but didn’t turn.
“Sophie needs you.”
That made me face him.
His daughter stood behind the front window.
Her hand pressed against the glass.
Noah had woken up and was beside her, confused and sleepy.
My anger softened toward the children.
Not toward David.
“Your children need their father.”
“They need you too.”
“Don’t use them to keep me here.”
His face fell.
“I’m not.”
“You used my father’s guilt to hire me.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
He glanced toward the officers.
“Not here.”
I laughed without humor.
“You’ve had six years.”
“I know.”
“That seems to be your favorite answer.”
I walked away.
That night, I stayed with my friend Megan.
I told her almost everything.
Almost.
I couldn’t bring myself to say the part about my father possibly being murdered.
Saying it would make it real.
At 2:13 a.m., I woke to my phone vibrating.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then a message appeared.
YOUR FATHER TRIED TO WARN YOU.
My blood went cold.
Another message came.
DAVID HAS THE SECOND LETTER.
I sat up.
Megan was asleep across the room.
I typed:
Who is this?
The reply came instantly.
ASK HIM WHAT HAPPENED AT THE HARBOR.
Then the number disappeared from the messaging app.
I called David.
He answered on the first ring.
“Hannah?”
“What happened at the harbor?”
Silence.
I closed my eyes.
“You have five seconds before I hang up and take everything to the police.”
“Hannah, wait.”
“Five.”
“Your father met someone at Boston Harbor three days before he died.”
“Who?”
“I never saw him.”
“Did you know about the meeting?”
“Yes.”
“Did you go?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because your father told me not to.”
I gripped the phone.
“What second letter?”
He stopped breathing.
That was enough.
“You have another letter.”
“Yes.”
I nearly screamed.
“Why didn’t you give it to me?”
“Because it wasn’t addressed to you.”
“To who?”
“To me.”
“What does it say?”
“I’ll bring it.”
“No. Read it.”
“Hannah—”
“Read it.”
Paper rustled.
His voice shook.
David,
If anything happens to me, do not trust anyone connected to Charles Vale. Protect Hannah. Protect the documents. And whatever you do, do not let them know where the original ledger is.
David stopped.
I waited.
“That’s it?”
“No.”
“Keep reading.”
He took a breath.
I made a mistake trusting the wrong person. If I’m right, someone has been watching us. The harbor meeting confirmed it. They know about the company. They know about the money. I’m moving the ledger tonight.
I whispered, “What ledger?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop lying.”
“I swear.”
“You had six years to find out.”
“I tried.”
“Not hard enough.”
I hung up.
Then I noticed another text.
This one was from Sophie.
She had used the old tablet I gave her for schoolwork.
HANNAH PLEASE COME BACK.
A second message followed.
SOMEONE IS IN THE HOUSE.
I was on my feet before I finished reading.
I called David.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
I called 911 while pulling on my shoes.
Megan woke.
“What happened?”
“Sophie says someone’s in the house.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“You’re not going alone.”
We drove through Boston faster than we should have.
Police were already arriving when we reached the Miller home.
The front door stood open.
David was outside holding Noah.
Blood ran from a cut above his eyebrow.
I ran toward him.
“Where’s Sophie?”
His face changed.
“I thought she was with you.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“She messaged you.”
“I know.”
“I went upstairs after hearing glass break. Someone hit me. When I woke up, Sophie was gone.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“No.”
Police rushed through the house.
I pushed past David.
“Sophie!”
Nothing.
Her bedroom window was open.
The curtain moved in the cold night air.
On her bed sat the stuffed rabbit she had owned since she was a baby.
Pinned to it was a note.
David grabbed it before the officer could stop him.
One sentence.
BRING THE LEDGER OR LOSE THE GIRL.
David sank onto Sophie’s bed.
“I don’t have it.”
I stared at him.
“Then find it.”
The officer asked, “Who knows about this ledger?”
“Laura.”
David looked up.
“She must.”
His wife was still being questioned at the station.
Police called immediately.
The response came minutes later.
Laura Miller was no longer there.
My stomach dropped.
“What do you mean?”
The detective on speaker explained.
Her lawyer had arrived.
The evidence they had initially wasn’t enough to hold her overnight on the financial accusations.
The child abuse footage had triggered further review, but before formal charges were processed, there had been confusion over jurisdiction and procedure.
She had left with her attorney.
Forty minutes before Sophie disappeared.
David threw his phone against the wall.
“She took her.”
I wanted to believe it.
Laura was cruel enough.
Desperate enough.
But the message said ledger.
And someone had contacted me before the kidnapping.
Ask him what happened at the harbor.
I turned to David.
“Who knew where you lived six years ago?”
“A lot of people.”
“Who knew my father?”
“A lot.”
“Who knew about me?”
His face tightened.
“Very few.”
“How few?”
“My father. Your father. Me.”
“And Laura?”
“She found the documents.”
“Mark?”
“I don’t know.”
Police began searching the yard.
A detective asked for recent photographs of Sophie.
David handed over his phone.
I looked around the bedroom.
Something felt wrong.
The window.
The broken glass.
It was all too obvious.
I walked closer.
Glass covered the floor.
But most of it was outside the window.
I pointed.
“Wait.”
The detective looked.
“If someone broke in, wouldn’t most glass fall inside?”
He crouched.
“Yes.”
David stood.
“So the window was broken from inside.”
I looked at Sophie’s bed.
Her shoes were gone.
Her coat was gone too.
Someone had made her walk out.
Or Sophie had left willingly.
Then I saw the stuffed rabbit.
Sophie never slept without it.
Never.
Why would she leave it?
Unless she wanted us to notice it.
I picked it up.
The detective began to protest.
Then something crinkled inside.
I squeezed the rabbit.
There was paper beneath the stuffing.
A seam along its back had been opened and poorly closed.
David found scissors.
The detective carefully cut two stitches.
A folded piece of paper slipped out.
Not a kidnapping note.
A drawing.
Sophie had drawn three people.
A little girl.
A woman with yellow hair.
A man wearing a black baseball cap.
Above them she had written:
MOM SAYS MARK IS OUR REAL FRIEND.
My stomach turned.
David looked like he might collapse.
“She knew him.”
I stared at the drawing.
In one corner, Sophie had drawn a building beside blue water.
A red number stood above the door.
17.
The detective photographed it.
“Does this mean anything to either of you?”
David slowly lifted his head.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
His face went pale.
“Pier 17.”
I stared at him.
“The harbor?”
He nodded.
“The same place your father met someone three days before he died.”
We were out the door in seconds.
Police ordered us to stay behind.
I didn’t.
Neither did David.
Pier 17 was mostly warehouses and private storage spaces.
At that hour, the waterfront looked almost abandoned.
Police cars approached without sirens.
My heart pounded so hard it hurt.
We found Warehouse 17.
The side door was unlocked.
Inside, rows of storage cages disappeared into darkness.
An officer moved ahead.
Then we heard a child crying.
“Sophie!”
David ran.
The detective grabbed him.
“Stay back!”
A light came on deeper inside the warehouse.
Sophie was sitting in a chair.
Her hands weren’t tied.
Laura stood beside her.
And behind Laura was the man from the basement video.
Mark.
He held no gun.
No weapon.
He looked almost calm.
That somehow frightened me more.
Sophie saw me.
“Hannah!”
I moved forward.
Mark lifted one hand.
“Close enough.”
Laura looked exhausted.
Not victorious.
Not even angry.
Terrified.
I stared at her.
“You kidnapped your own daughter.”
“No.”
David shouted, “Then what do you call this?”
Laura turned on him.
“I brought her here because Mark said he would kill Noah if I didn’t.”
Mark sighed.
“Always dramatic.”
David lunged.
Police stopped him.
Mark looked at me.
“You have your father’s eyes.”
My stomach twisted.
“You knew him.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Did you kill him?”
Laura closed her eyes.
Mark smiled.
“No.”
Then he pointed behind me.
“But the man standing next to you knows who did.”
May you like
I turned toward David.
And before he could speak, a gunshot cracked through the warehouse.
