Chapter 4: Everything She Built on Sand
I grabbed the envelope.
Diane was already moving.
She crossed to the far corner of the basement in four quick steps and pressed herself behind the old furnace.
She pointed upward with one finger, then pressed it to her lips.
I killed the light.
The footsteps moved across the ceiling above us.
Two sets.
My husband and his mother, walking together toward the back of the house.
"She wouldn't go down there," his mother said.
Her voice came through the floorboards clearly.
"She doesn't have the nerve."
"She has more nerve than you keep giving her credit for," my husband said.
"I should know."
"She's just a woman who got lucky tonight." A pause.
A drawer opening.
"We handle this the same way we handled Diane.
We discredit her.
We move first."
"And if she found something?"
"There is nothing to find." His mother's voice didn't waver.
"I moved everything that matters weeks ago.
The basement is clean."
I pressed my back against the cold stone wall and stared up at the ceiling.
She didn't know about the envelope.
Diane had gotten there first.
In the corner, Diane's outline was barely visible in the dark.
She was watching me.
I held the envelope up slightly.
She gave one small nod.
The footsteps moved toward the back door.
"Go check if she's still in the car," his mother said.
"If she is, be calm.
Apologize.
Bring her inside."
"And if she isn't?"
"Then let her go for tonight.
She has nowhere to take anything.
She has no one who will believe her."
A door opened and closed.
Silence.
Diane crossed back to me quietly.
Her mouth was close to my ear when she spoke.
"We have maybe three minutes.
Is there anyone you trust enough to call right now?
Someone outside this family?"
I thought of my sister, Carol, who had never liked my husband and had told me so at our wedding in a voice too loud for the reception hall.
I thought of how I had defended him that night until Carol stopped arguing and simply looked at me with something I now understood was grief.
"My sister," I said.
"Call her.
Tell her where you are and tell her to come.
Don't leave this basement alone." Diane pressed something else into my hand.
A small USB drive.
"Everything on here is copied from documents I photographed over two years.
Bank accounts.
Property records.
A recording."
"A recording of what?"
Diane looked toward the stairs.
"Of his mother explaining to him, in her own words, exactly why they chose you and what they planned to do when they were finished with you."
The back door opened again above us.
My husband's footsteps returned to the kitchen.
"Car's empty," he said.
"She's gone."
His mother made a quiet sound of satisfaction.
"Good.
Let her run.
She always does."
I had my phone in my hand.
I found Carol's name.
I typed instead of calling, because my voice would not have held.
*I'm at the house.
Basement.
Come now.
Don't tell anyone.
Please.*
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Then: *On my way.
Don't move.*
Above me, my husband poured himself a drink.
Ice clinked against glass.
His mother said something I couldn't fully hear.
And then she said one sentence I heard perfectly clearly.
May you like
"After tonight, we start the next phase.
The girl in Portland is already waiting."
