It contained a series of account numbers, dates, and the name of a private investigator.
At the bottom, my father had written one sentence.
If Julian ever comes after the house, Elena must learn what happened to the first family.
I read it twice.
“What first family?”
Mother lowered herself into a chair.
Her face had become pale again, but this time the fear in her eyes was different. Older. Deeper.
“Julian is not your brother’s real name,” she whispered.
I stared at her.
“What are you talking about?”
Before she could answer, the evidence technician emerged from the office carrying one of the recovered hard drives.
“Elena,” he said, “we opened the most recent video folder.”
Something in his expression chilled me.
“What did you find?”
“The files aren’t only recordings of your mother.”
He turned the laptop toward me.
A paused video filled the screen.
The image had been captured in the basement two nights earlier.
Julian stood beside a man in a dark overcoat.
The man’s face was partially turned away, but I recognized him immediately.
Judge Thorne.
The same man I had called for help.
On the recording, Julian handed him a thick envelope.
Then Judge Thorne looked directly toward the hidden camera and said, “Once Elena arrives, we finish what her father started.”
My mother gripped my arm.
Outside, my phone began to ring.
The caller identification showed Judge Thorne’s name.
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