PART 11
I hesitated at the top of the stairs,
Noah heavy in my arms.
The phone kept ringing,
a persistent,
deafening sound.
I walked down slowly,
every step feeling like lead.
I answered,
pressing the phone to my ear.
"This is a collect call from an inmate,"
the automated voice droned.
I pressed one to accept.
"Emma,"
Ethan’s voice was raspy,
hollow,
stripped of all the old arrogance.
"You shouldn't be at the house."
"Ethan,"
I hissed,
"what did you do?"
"Who is outside my home?"
"Listen to me,"
he interrupted,
coughing softly.
"I didn't tell them anything,"
"I took the plea to protect you and Noah."
"I thought if I went away,"
"they would leave you alone."
"Who is 'they', Ethan?"
"The Architect,"
he whispered,
the name sending a chill straight down my spine.
"The man who created the shell companies."
"I just filled the folders,"
"Claire just signed the names."
"We were small pieces, Emma."
"He found out about the voice recorder."
"He knows your father kept a copy of the backup drive."
I gasped,
"Dad doesn't have a drive."
"He gave everything to the police."
"No,"
Ethan said,
his voice cracking with genuine terror.
"The police only got the files on the six women."
"There was a seventh folder,"
"the master list."
"It contains the bank accounts of the politicians,"
"the judges,"
"the lawyers who used the ring to hide money."
"Your father hid it,"
"and now they think you have it."
"Emma,"
"he’s coming for Noah."
"The man at the school,"
"he’s his clean-up guy."
"Get out,"
"run to—"
The line abruptly cut off,
followed by a loud commotion on his end,
shouting,
and the heavy clang of iron doors.
I dropped the receiver,
it swung by its cord,
clacking against the wall.
My father had hidden the truth to protect me,
May you like
and in doing so,
he had put a target on our backs.
