Chapter 11 - The Dead Still Speak
Chloe fell to her knees on the runner rug, ignoring Susan’s frantic footsteps behind her. Her hands were shaking so severely she could barely grip the paper, but she snatched the envelope from the floor and tore open the seal before Susan could react.
Inside was a single sheet of heavy cream parchment, written in Eleanor's hurried, elegant script. It wasn't a rambling note of paranoia. It was a clear, precise declaration, dated the very day she had died:
My darling Chloe,
If you are reading this, Arthur has succeeded in what he has been planning since the spring. Do not believe his tears. Do not believe Susan’s comfort. They are two vipers feeding from the same hand.
I have hidden the true deed to the family trust and the unedited security footage of this house where Arthur will never think to look: inside the hollow frame of my winter landscape canvas in the garden shed. Everything belongs to you, Chloe. Every brick, every dollar, every acre. I made sure of it.
Run to Judge Miller in town. He has the matching documents. Do not let Arthur take your future. Forgive me for not being strong enough to stay.
I love you beyond the stars,
Mom.
Chloe clutched the letter to her chest, tears finally spilling hot and heavy down her cheeks. Eleanor hadn't run away. Eleanor had fought until her very last breath to protect her daughter's inheritance.
""What does it say?"" Susan demanded, standing over Chloe like a looming specter. Her hand reached down, fingers clawing for the paper. ""Is it about the accounts? Where did she hide the bonds?""
Chloe stood up quickly, shoving the letter deep into the pocket of her oversized sweater, right beside the brass key that she had actually palmed—the object she had thrown out the window had been nothing more than a rusted padlock key from the attic floor. Susan had been too panicked to notice the switch.
""It says you're a liar,"" Chloe said coldly, looking Susan dead in the eye. ""It says you and Arthur planned everything together.""
Susan's expression twisted into something ugly and grotesque. The facade of the protective stepmother evaporated entirely. ""Give me that letter, Chloe.""
""No.""
Susan lunged forward, her fingers clawing at Chloe's sweater. Chloe sidestepped, ducking into the master bedroom and slamming the heavy oak door shut, throwing the brass latch just as Susan’s weight hit the wood from the outside.
""Open the damn door!"" Susan screamed, pounding furiously against the panels. ""You think the police will believe a traumatized teenager over me? I will tell them you pushed him! I will tell them you found out about the money and snapped! You won't see a dime of this estate from inside a cell!""
Inside the bedroom, Chloe ran to the landline phone on the bedside table. She lifted the receiver, but there was no dial tone—only dead, static silence. Arthur had cut the lines earlier that evening.
Her cell phone was downstairs in her handbag by the front door.
May you like
Chloe ran to the bedroom’s private balcony overlooking the back grounds. Outside, the rain was beginning to fall in sheets, blurring the dark forest line. The garden shed was fifty yards across the lawn, shrouded in darkness near the old stone well.
If she wanted to survive the night, she had to reach that shed before Susan realized where the real evidence was hidden.
