Chapter 4
I woke up to the smell of antiseptic and old carpet.
My head throbbed.
My left shoulder felt like it was on fire.
I tried to move.
Couldn’t.
My wrists were tied to something.
Rough rope.
Biting into my skin.
I opened my eyes.
I was in the basement.
Megan’s basement.
I’d only been down here a handful of times—mostly to help her pull out Christmas decorations or old boxes of our parents’ things. It smelled like damp concrete and mildew and regret.
Dim light filtered through the small, barred window near the ceiling.
Dusk.
How long had I been out?
Hours, probably.
I tested the ropes again.
Tight.
No give.
I looked around.
The basement was mostly empty.
A washing machine and dryer in the corner.
A stack of cardboard boxes against one wall.
A folding table.
Two chairs.
And in one of those chairs—
Noah.
Tied up just like me.
Gag in his mouth.
Tears streaming down his face.
He saw me wake up.
Tried to say something.
Muffled.
Useless.
His eyes were wide with terror.
“Noah,” I whispered. My voice was hoarse. “Baby, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here. Don’t cry. Everything is going to be okay.”
It was a lie.
We both knew it.
But he stopped crying.
Just stared at me.
Like I was the only real thing in the whole world.
Then the stairs creaked.
Footsteps.
Coming down.
Three sets.
David first.
Then Caroline.
Then Megan.
They stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
David was rubbing his jaw.
I must have hit him when I tackled him.
Good.
Caroline was holding a glass of wine.
Red.
She swirled it like she was at a gallery opening.
Megan wouldn’t look at me.
Wouldn’t look at Noah.
She stared at a spot on the concrete between her feet.
“About time you woke up,” David said. He pulled the other folding chair over and sat down, facing me. “We were starting to think we’d hit you too hard.”
“Where is he?” I said. My voice was rough. “Where’s Noah? Did you catch him?”
David smiled.
“Of course we caught him,” he said. “Did you really think a seven-year-old was going to outrun me? He made it to the sidewalk. That’s it. Less than a hundred yards. Cute, though. I’ll give him that. Got some fight in him. Just like his aunt.”
He nodded at Noah.
“Unfortunately, that fight is going to get him in a lot of trouble if we don’t beat it out of him. Which we will. If we have to.”
I pulled against the ropes.
“You touch him,” I said, “and I will kill you. I swear to God, David. I will kill you with my bare hands.”
He laughed.
“Big words from a woman tied to a washing machine.”
Caroline stepped forward.
She sipped her wine.
“Enough with the posturing, David,” she said. “We have things to discuss. Sarah, I’m going to be very honest with you. Because I think honesty is the foundation of any good relationship. And we are going to be in each other’s lives for a very long time now. Whether you like it or not.”
She set her wine glass on the folding table.
“You’re probably wondering why we’re doing this,” she said. “Why we went to all this trouble. Why Megan is helping us. Why Noah is so important to us.”
She leaned against the table.
Crossed her legs.
“David told you we want custody,” she said. “That’s true. But not for the reasons you think. We don’t want him because we love him. We don’t want him because we want to raise him. We want him because of his grandfather.”
I blinked.
“His grandfather?”
“Your father,” she said. “Richard. May he rest in peace.”
My father had died two years ago.
Heart attack.
Sudden.
He’d been a mechanic his whole life.
Worked hard.
Saved every penny.
Left Megan and me a little money each—enough to pay off some bills, take a vacation.
Nothing to write home about.
“Our father was a mechanic,” I said. “He didn’t have anything worth kidnapping a kid over.”
Caroline smiled.
“Didn’t he?” she said. “Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. You never were the curious one, were you? Always taking things at face value. Your father wasn’t just a mechanic. He was the sole heir to the Hale fortune. Four hundred and twenty million dollars. In oil, in real estate, in stocks. All tied up in a trust. A trust that was supposed to go to his only living son. But your father ran away when he was eighteen. Changed his name. Married your mother. Never told anyone who he really was. Not even her. Not even you.”
I stared at her.
“That’s crazy,” I said. “My dad’s name was Tom. Tom Miller. He grew up in a trailer park in East Texas. He told us a hundred times.”
“Of course he did,” Caroline said. “That was the story. The lie he lived. But the truth is, he was Richard Hale. The only son of Harold Hale, the oil baron. And when Harold died five years ago, the lawyers started looking for Richard. They found him. Two months before he had that heart attack. They offered him the money. All of it. He turned them down. Said he didn’t want anything to do with the family that had disowned him for marrying your mother. Said he’d rather die poor than be a Hale.”
She paused.
Let that sink in.
“But the trust didn’t disappear,” she said. “It passed. To Richard’s line. To his children. And their children. Megan is the oldest. She gets the controlling share. Fifty-one percent. You get twenty-four and a half. And Noah? Noah gets twenty-four and a half. Four hundred and twenty million dollars, Sarah. Split three ways. But there’s a catch.”
She leaned in a little.
“The trust says that if any heir is proven to be mentally unfit? Or has a criminal record? Or loses custody of their children due to abuse or neglect? Their share gets split equally among the remaining heirs. And if there are no remaining adult heirs? The minor’s share is held in trust. Managed by the minor’s legal guardians. Until he turns eighteen.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
“Oh my God is right,” Caroline said. She smiled. “Here’s the math. If Megan is declared mentally unfit—which, with all those prescription drugs we planted, the testimony of her loving ex-husband, and a few paid-off doctors? That’s a done deal. Her fifty-one percent splits between you and Noah. Twenty-five and a half each. Then we frame you for kidnapping Noah. For assaulting David. For who knows what else. You go to prison for ten, fifteen years. Your share goes to Noah. All of it. Every last penny. Four hundred and twenty million dollars. Controlled by his legal guardians. Which would be me. And David.”
She gestured between herself and my ex-brother-in-law.
“That’s why we’re here, Sarah,” she said. “That’s all this ever was. It was never about Megan. It was never about Noah. It was about the money. All of it. Every last cent.”
I looked at Megan.
She was still staring at the floor.
“Did you know?” I said. My voice cracked. “Megan. Look at me. Did you know about the money?”
She lifted her head.
Her eyes were red.
Puffy.
“Of course I knew,” she said. Her voice was hollow. “The lawyers found Dad two months before he died. They told him about the trust. He told me. Told me not to tell you. Said you’d use it to quit your job and paint or something stupid. Said you weren’t responsible enough for that kind of money. Then he died. And I thought… I thought the money was mine. All mine. I was going to quit my job. Move to California. Get Noah into a private school. Finally be happy. And then David showed up. With Caroline. And they told me they knew. Told me they’d found the trust documents. Told me if I didn’t help them, they’d destroy me. That I’d never see a dime. That I’d lose Noah. That I’d end up in prison or a hospital. And I believed them. Sarah, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
She started crying again.
I didn’t feel anything for her.
Not anymore.
The sister I’d grown up with—the one who’d shared her candy with me, who’d held my hand through our parents’ funerals, who’d been my best friend for thirty-four years—was gone.
She’d sold us.
Sold me.
Sold her own son.
All for a lie.
All for money that was never even hers to begin with.
“You’re pathetic,” I said.
She flinched like I’d slapped her.
“Enough,” David said. He stood up. “We’ve wasted enough time. Caroline, what’s the plan?”
Caroline picked up her wine glass again.
“The plan is simple,” she said. “Tomorrow morning, we call the police. We tell them Sarah showed up yesterday, unhinged, ranting about things that didn’t happen. That she attacked David. That she kidnapped Noah and locked herself in the bedroom. That we finally managed to subdue her and get Noah back. We show them the pill bottles. We show them Megan’s ‘medical records’—I had those forged months ago, they’re flawless. We show them the witnesses we’ve already paid off. Sarah goes to jail. Megan checks herself into a nice, private psychiatric facility for a few months. Long enough to be declared unfit. Noah comes to live with us. The lawyers do the rest. In a year, we’re billionaires. And everyone lives happily ever after.”
“Except me,” I said.
“Except you,” Caroline agreed. “And Megan, I suppose. But she made her bed. She can lie in it.”
Megan looked up.
“You promised,” she said. Her voice was small. “You promised if I helped you, I’d get my share. That I’d get to see Noah. That I’d be okay.”
Caroline looked at her like she was something she’d scraped off her shoe.
“I promised a lot of things, Megan,” she said. “Most of them were lies. You really should have known that by now.”
Megan’s face crumpled.
“You bitch,” she whispered.
Caroline laughed.
“Takes one to know one, honey.”
She turned back to me.
“Now,” she said. “We’re going to leave you two down here for the night. To think about things. To say your goodbyes, I suppose. Tomorrow, everything changes. Forever. I’d suggest you make the most of it.”
She turned toward the stairs.
“David?”
He followed.
Megan stayed.
For a second.
She looked at me.
At Noah.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
And then she turned and followed them up the stairs.
The light at the top went out.
The door clicked shut.
The lock turned.
We were alone.
In the dark.
Noah made a small, muffled sound behind his gag.
I looked at him.
Tied to that chair.
Scared out of his mind.
And I made a promise to myself.
A promise I intended to keep.
Whatever it took.
Whatever I had to do.
I was getting us out of here.
May you like
And Caroline and David and even Megan, if it came to it—they were never going to hurt my nephew again.
Never.
