Chapter 6
We made our plan on the drive back to town.
Victoria and Olivia were throwing a huge party at the mansion that night, for all the Whitmore Industries investors. They wanted to calm everyone down after the restraining order, convince them the sale would still go through, that I was just a minor inconvenience.
The house would be full of people. Full of caterers, waiters, security guards, guests. No one would notice two more people slipping in through the back kitchen door. No one would notice us leading a confused, drugged man out to a waiting car.
It was our only chance.
Marcus picked me up at the cottage at 10 p.m., dressed in a black security uniform, the same kind he’d worn when he worked for my father. He handed me a waitress uniform—clean, this time, not the stained one from the gala.
“Victoria hired a new catering company for the party,” he said. “No one knows all the staff. You’ll blend right in.”
I pulled the uniform on in the car, tucking my hair up under a white cap. I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. I looked exactly like I had at the gala. But this time, I wasn’t there to serve champagne. I was there to get my father back.
We pulled up to the mansion at 10:45, parking two blocks away, just like we’d planned. We walked to the back gate, Marcus flashing a fake security badge at the guard, who waved us through without a second look.
The back kitchen was chaos, full of shouting chefs and rushing waiters, carrying trays of food and drinks. No one paid us any attention. Marcus grabbed two walkie-talkies from a counter, handing me one.
“Stick to the plan,” he said, his voice low. “I’ll distract the security guards outside your father’s study. You go in, get him, and bring him out the back door to the car. I’ll meet you there. If anything goes wrong, hit the button on the walkie. I’ll come running.”
I nodded, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.
We split up. I walked through the kitchen, out into the main hallway, keeping my head down, carrying an empty tray like I belonged there. The party was in full swing in the ballroom, music thumping, guests laughing and talking. I walked past the open door, glancing in for a second.
Olivia was in the center of the room, wearing a red gown, laughing and talking to a group of investors, a glass of champagne in her hand. Victoria was beside her, smiling, her arm around a man I recognized as the CEO of the holding company that was supposed to buy Whitmore.
They looked happy. They looked like they’d already won.
I kept walking, up the grand staircase, down the hallway to my father’s study. The door was closed, just like Marcus had said. Two security guards stood outside, leaning against the wall, talking.
I heard Marcus’s voice come through my walkie-talkie, quiet and sharp. “Now.”
A second later, an alarm blared from the other end of the hallway. The two guards snapped to attention, looking toward the sound.
“What the hell was that?” one said.
“Fire alarm,” the other said. “Come on, we have to check it out.”
They ran off, leaving the door unguarded.
I waited until they were gone, then turned the handle on the study door. It was unlocked. I slipped inside, closing the door softly behind me.
The room was dark, except for a single lamp on the desk. My father was sitting in his leather chair, staring at the wall, his face slack, his eyes glassy. There was a half-empty cup of tea on the desk beside him, still steaming.
“Dad?” I said, stepping closer.
He blinked slowly, turning to look at me. It took him a few seconds to recognize me. His face twisted into a confused frown.
“Clara?” he said, his voice slurred, slow. “What are you doing here? Victoria said you were… you were in trouble. She said you stole money.”
“I didn’t steal anything, Dad,” I said, kneeling down in front of him, taking his cold hands in mine. “Victoria and Olivia are lying to you. They’ve been lying to you for two years. They killed Mom. They forged the will. They’re stealing the company. And they’ve been drugging you to make you do what they want.”
He stared at me, his brow furrowed, like he was trying to process what I was saying through a thick fog.
“Drugging me?” he said. “No… Victoria would never… she loves me.”
“She doesn’t love you,” I said, my voice urgent. “She loves your money. She and Olivia have been threatening you for months. Blackmailing you. Marcus has proof. We have proof they killed Mom. We can help you, Dad. But you have to come with me. Right now. Before they find us.”
I stood up, pulling gently on his hands. “Come on. We have to go.”
He hesitated for a second, then slowly stood up, his legs wobbly. I put my arm around his waist, supporting him as we walked toward the door.
We were halfway there when the door flew open.
Victoria stood in the doorway, her face red with rage. Behind her, Olivia, and the two security guards.
“Going somewhere, Clara?” Victoria said, her voice cold.
My heart dropped. The alarm had been a trap. They’d known we were coming.
“Take her,” Victoria said to the guards. “And get John back in his chair. We’ll deal with this once and for all.”
The guards stepped forward, reaching for me. I stepped back, pulling my father behind me, my hand reaching for the pepper spray in my pocket.
Before they could touch me, Marcus burst through the window behind the desk, shattering the glass. He tackled one guard to the floor, punching him hard in the jaw. The other guard turned to help his partner, and I sprayed him in the face with the pepper spray. He screamed, clutching his eyes, falling to his knees.
“Go!” Marcus shouted, fighting off the first guard. “Get him to the car! I’ll hold them off!”
I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed my father’s arm, pulling him out the door, down the hallway, toward the back stairs. We could hear Victoria screaming behind us, Olivia shouting for more guards, but we didn’t look back.
We ran down the back stairs, out the kitchen door, to the car Marcus had parked behind the hedge. I shoved my father into the back seat, jumping into the driver’s seat, slamming the gas pedal to the floor before the door was even fully closed.
We peeled out of the driveway, tires screeching, just as more guards ran out the back door, shouting.
I didn’t stop driving until we were 10 miles away, on the dark country road leading to the private clinic Marcus had arranged. I looked in the rearview mirror. No one was following us.
My father was lying on the back seat, his eyes closed, his breathing slow. The drugs were hitting him hard.
I reached back, taking his hand in mine.
“It’s okay, Dad,” I said, my voice soft. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
He squeezed my hand weakly, but he didn’t wake up.
I drove on, the dark road stretching out in front of us, the USB drive with the murder footage safe in my jacket pocket.
We’d gotten him out.
May you like
Now we just had to wake him up.
And make him remember.
