Chapter 4
I showed the text to Agent Miller the next morning, and she advised me to get a security detail, at least until Ethan and Carol’s arraignment.
I called the firm she recommended, and by that afternoon, Jake Marlow was standing on my front porch, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, his hand outstretched.
He was ex-Army Rangers, mid-thirties, with a scar across his right cheek and eyes the color of storm clouds, quiet and steady, like nothing could ever rattle him.
“I’ll be staying in the guest wing,” he said, his voice low and rough. “If you need anything, day or night, I’m three doors down.”
For the first week, he was everywhere. Standing in the corner during my business calls. Patrolling the grounds at night. Following me to the grocery store like a quiet shadow.
I was annoyed at first, used to being on my own, used to taking care of myself.
Then the arraignment happened.
Ethan and Carol were led into the courtroom in orange jumpsuits, their hands cuffed, their faces pale. Carol’s hair was a mess, no makeup, and Ethan had a black eye he’d gotten in a fight in holding.
Their lawyer, a slick man in a $5,000 suit, stood up and told the judge I was a grieving, unstable daughter who’d framed her stepfamily to steal the estate for herself.
He said the video was edited. Said the toxicology report was fake. Said I’d paid off the nurses and the lawyers to make his clients look guilty.
The judge set bail at $500,000 each, with house arrest and a restraining order—they had to stay at least 500 feet away from me at all times.
I walked out of the courthouse shaking with rage, Jake’s hand light on my elbow, guiding me through the crowd of reporters.
“They’re going to get out,” I said, my voice cracking. “They’re going to get out and come after me.”
“Not on my watch,” Jake said, and there was something in his voice, something hard and sure, that made me believe him.
That night, I woke up to the sound of glass shattering downstairs.
I grabbed the baseball bat dad had kept by my bed since I was a teenager, my heart hammering so hard I could hear it in my ears, and crept to the door.
Jake was already at the top of the stairs, a gun in his hand, his finger on the trigger, his body loose and ready.
“Stay here,” he mouthed, and slipped down the stairs as quiet as a cat.
I heard him move through the dark house, the sound of a closet door opening, the back door clicking shut.
Ten minutes later, he was back at my door, his face grim.
“Someone broke the study window,” he said. “Trashed the room. Took nothing. Left this on the desk.”
He held out a piece of paper, crumpled, written in red marker.
STOP DIGGING OR YOU’LL END UP JUST LIKE YOUR DAD.
I sank down onto the edge of my bed, the paper shaking in my hand, and for the first time, I was truly scared.
May you like
Jake sat down beside me, his shoulder warm and solid against mine, and didn’t say a word.
He just stayed there, quiet and steady, until the sun came up.
