Chapter 3 - THE SISTER WHO STARTED ASKING QUESTIONS
Rebecca Holloway had always made Grant uncomfortable.
Claire had noticed it years ago.
At family dinners, Grant could dominate everyone else without appearing to try.
Arthur Holloway listened to him because Grant ran the company.
Board members deferred to him because Grant remembered every weakness they had ever revealed.
Employees measured their words around him.
Even Claire, long before she admitted it to herself, had learned to predict his moods by the way he placed his keys on the foyer table.
But Rebecca never adjusted herself for Grant.
She was thirty-four, two years younger than him, unmarried, and had escaped Holloway Meridian entirely by becoming a pediatric surgeon.
Grant called that choice sentimental.
Rebecca called it employment.
Their arguments were usually quiet.
Which made them worse.
Now Claire stood beneath the basement vent listening.
“I asked where she is.”
Rebecca’s voice was closer.
Kitchen, Claire guessed.
Grant responded.
“And I told you she’s sleeping.”
“At four in the afternoon?”
“She hasn’t been well.”
“Then why did she miss her appointment with Patel?”
Claire’s heart stopped.
Dr. Nadia Patel.
Her obstetrician.
The appointment had been scheduled for that morning.
Claire had forgotten.
Three days in a basement had turned hours into an indistinct blur.
Grant answered too quickly.
“She canceled it.”
Rebecca was silent.
Claire pressed closer to the vent.
“Claire canceled?”
“Yes.”
“From what phone?”
Another silence.
Claire closed her eyes.
Rebecca knew.
Maybe not everything.
But she knew enough to ask the right question.
Grant’s tone sharpened.
“What exactly are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything.”
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Walk into my house and act like you know things you don’t.”
Rebecca laughed without humor.
“I know Claire is thirty-two weeks pregnant. I know Patel’s office called me because they couldn’t reach either of you. I know you told me two nights ago Claire was having some kind of mental-health crisis. And I know when I suggested taking her to a hospital, you suddenly stopped answering my calls.”
Claire’s eyes burned.
Rebecca had tried.
Grant had intercepted it.
“She doesn’t need a hospital.”
“Then let me see her.”
“No.”
One word.
Too fast.
Too absolute.
Rebecca’s voice changed.
“Why?”
Claire stared at the ceiling.
Grant was good under pressure.
But he was best when he could prepare.
Rebecca had arrived outside his script.
“I said she’s sleeping.”
“And I’m a doctor. I can walk quietly.”
“This isn’t your patient.”
“She’s my family.”
Grant’s footsteps moved.
“Rebecca.”
There it was.
The warning voice.
Claire knew it well.
Rebecca did too.
Apparently she did not care.
“What?”
“Go home.”
“No.”
Claire covered her mouth.
A strange mixture of hope and terror flooded her.
Hope because Rebecca was pushing.
Terror because Claire knew what happened when people pushed Grant too far.
Something struck a countertop.
Maybe Grant’s hand.
“Do not make this more difficult than it has to be.”
Rebecca answered softly.
“For whom?”
Claire wanted to scream her name.
One word.
Rebecca.
The vent was narrow, but sound traveled.
If Claire shouted loudly enough, there was a chance—
The camera.
Claire looked toward it.
Grant would see.
He could reach the basement before Rebecca found the door.
He might move Claire immediately afterward.
And Claire still had no way to send the recordings anywhere.
The phone had six percent battery.
No signal.
Evidence meant nothing if it remained buried beside her.
Claire forced herself to think.
She needed Rebecca suspicious.
Not expelled.
Upstairs, Grant said, “Claire threatened to hurt herself.”
Claire stiffened.
Rebecca’s reply came instantly.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“With what?”
“What?”
“What did she threaten to hurt herself with?”
Grant hesitated.
“That isn’t the point.”
“It’s exactly the point.”
“I took away anything dangerous.”
“You told me she was having anxiety.”
“It got worse.”
“Then she needs medical care.”
“She has medical care.”
“From whom?”
Silence.
Rebecca continued.
“Grant, if Claire threatened self-harm while thirty-two weeks pregnant, and you are concealing that from her obstetrician, you are not protecting her.”
“I know my wife.”
“And I know what a medical emergency looks like.”
“You don’t know what she’s been like.”
“Then let me see her.”
“No.”
Claire heard Rebecca inhale.
The next words were almost a whisper.
“Where is she?”
Grant did not answer.
Claire backed away from the vent.
She looked at the camera.
Still red.
Then toward the utility room beside the furnace.
Two days earlier, she had noticed an old copper pipe running from the utility wall to the first floor.
When the pipes expanded at night, tapping one section created noise inside the kitchen radiator.
Maybe.
It was a ridiculous plan.
Which was still better than no plan.
Claire grabbed the metal dog bowl.
She walked behind the furnace where the camera had only a partial angle.
Then she struck the pipe.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
She waited.
Upstairs, the conversation stopped.
Claire struck again.
Three short taps.
Three long.
Three short.
She did not know if Rebecca recognized Morse code.
Claire barely knew it herself.
But SOS was hard to mistake if someone had ever seen a movie.
Silence.
Then Rebecca said, “What was that?”
Grant answered immediately.
“Pipes.”
Claire struck again.
Three.
Three.
Three.
Grant’s footsteps thundered across the floor.
Claire dropped the bowl.
She barely made it back to the mattress before the basement locks opened.
Grant came down alone.
He did not close the door behind him.
Claire could see a narrow slice of Rebecca’s dark coat at the top of the stairs.
Grant’s face was white with fury.
“What did you do?”
Claire blinked.
“What?”
He crossed the room and grabbed her wrist.
Pain shot up her arm.
Claire gasped.
“Grant!”
Rebecca appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Take your hand off her.”
Grant froze.
Everything froze.
Claire.
Rebecca.
Even the furnace seemed to disappear beneath the sound of Claire’s heartbeat.
Rebecca stood three steps down.
Her face had lost all color.
Her gaze moved from Grant’s hand around Claire’s wrist to the camping mattress.
The dog bowl.
The concrete walls.
Then Claire’s stomach.
“Oh my God.”
Grant released Claire.
“This isn’t what it looks like.”
Rebecca stared at him.
Claire almost laughed.
There was no respectable explanation for a pregnant woman locked in a basement beside a bowl of dog food.
Yet Grant tried.
“She had an episode.”
Rebecca descended another step.
“So you locked her downstairs?”
“She was dangerous.”
“To whom?”
“Herself.”
Claire spoke.
“He took my phone.”
Grant turned.
“Stop.”
Rebecca reached the floor.
“Claire, are you hurt?”
“She’s manipulating you.”
Rebecca ignored him.
“Claire?”
Claire wanted to tell her everything.
The recordings.
Marshall.
The forged signature.
The trust.
But the camera was still watching.
Grant controlled the alarms.
The locks.
The gates around the estate.
And Rebecca was one woman.
One woman who had walked into a house designed by Grant and controlled by Grant.
Claire made a decision.
She looked directly into Rebecca’s eyes.
“I’m tired.”
Rebecca frowned.
Claire touched her stomach.
“Really tired.”
Rebecca’s gaze sharpened.
Claire continued.
“And I think maybe Grant is right.”
Grant stared at her.
Rebecca did too.
Claire lowered her voice.
“I’ve been confused.”
Rebecca understood something.
Claire saw it happen.
Not the whole message.
But enough to realize Claire was not speaking freely.
Grant’s shoulders loosened.
“Thank you.”
He stepped toward Claire.
“She needs rest.”
Rebecca looked around the room again.
“Then I’ll stay.”
Grant laughed.
“No.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
“This is my house.”
Rebecca faced him.
“And that is my niece.”
Grant’s expression hardened.
Claire feared he would physically remove Rebecca.
Instead, he smiled.
“Fine.”
Grant turned toward the staircase.
“You can stay for dinner.”
Rebecca followed him with her eyes.
“I want Claire upstairs.”
“No.”
“Then I’m calling the police.”
Grant stopped.
There it was.
The line.
The moment everything might explode.
Claire’s stomach tightened sharply.
This time it hurt.
She pressed a hand against it.
Rebecca noticed.
“Claire?”
“I’m okay.”
Grant faced Rebecca.
“Call whoever you want. Tell them my pregnant wife is experiencing a psychiatric crisis and I removed potential hazards while arranging a private evaluation. Tell them she has threatened herself and our unborn baby. Then explain why you interfered with a safety plan without examining her records.”
Rebecca’s jaw tightened.
Grant continued.
“You think I haven’t prepared for that?”
Claire felt ice spread through her chest.
Of course he had.
Rebecca glanced toward the camera.
“Prepared.”
“Yes.”
“That’s an interesting word.”
Grant stepped closer.
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
Rebecca met his eyes.
“I’m beginning to.”
She left the basement.
Grant locked the door again.
Claire listened as their voices retreated upstairs.
For almost twenty minutes, nothing happened.
Then the furnace started.
Warm air pushed through the vent.
A faint scratching sound came from behind Claire’s mattress.
She turned.
Something small slid through the gap between the wall and an old maintenance access panel.
A folded piece of paper.
Claire crawled toward it.
Her hands shook as she opened it.
Three words.
I BELIEVE YOU.
Below them was a second line.
NEED PROOF.
Claire closed her eyes.
For the first time in days, tears escaped.
Not because she was afraid.
Because someone finally knew.
She reached beneath the mattress.
The old phone showed six percent.
Claire typed a note in the drafts application.
MARSHALL VANE.
AUGUST 12.
FORGED SIGNATURE.
TRUST.
RECORDINGS.
Then she hesitated.
How could she get the phone to Rebecca?
The maintenance panel was too narrow.
But the device itself was small.
Claire removed the cracked plastic case.
She pushed the phone through.
It stopped halfway.
Too thick.
Footsteps sounded overhead.
Claire pulled it back quickly.
The basement door opened.
Grant descended carrying a tray.
Real food this time.
Soup.
Bread.
Water.
His expression was pleasant again.
“Rebecca left.”
Claire looked at him.
“Did she?”
“Yes.”
He placed the tray down.
“She understands now.”
Claire did not believe him.
Grant crouched.
“But you embarrassed me.”
Claire said nothing.
“So we’re going to change a few things.”
He reached into his pocket.
For one terrible second, Claire thought he knew about the phone.
Instead, he pulled out a prescription bottle.
Two white tablets rolled into his palm.
Claire stared.
“What are those?”
“Something to help you sleep.”
“I don’t need them.”
“That wasn’t a question.”
Claire looked toward the camera.
Grant followed her gaze.
Then smiled.
“Smile, Claire.”
Her skin crawled.
“Tomorrow, a doctor is coming.”
“What doctor?”
“Someone who will finally document what I’ve been trying to tell everyone.”
Claire looked at the pills.
Grant’s voice softened.
“And after tomorrow, nobody will need to believe me.”
He tilted his hand.
“They’ll have a professional opinion.”
Claire understood.
The basement had been the first part of the trap.
The forged documents were the second.
Tomorrow was the third.
Grant intended to turn his lie into a diagnosis.
Claire slowly picked up the glass of water.
But as Grant watched her, one thought steadied her.
Rebecca had seen the basement.
She had seen Grant grab Claire.
And somewhere upstairs, Grant’s sister had asked for proof.
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Claire had exactly that.
She only had to survive long enough to get it to her.
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