PART 4 — THE WOMAN AT THE DOOR
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
I couldn’t breathe.
Lauren’s voice came through the door again.
“Please.”
I looked at Daniel.
He was standing completely still.
His face had lost all color.
“How?” I whispered.
He didn’t answer.
“How is she here?”
“I don’t know.”
“She was arrested.”
“I know.”
“She was supposed to be in prison.”
“I know.”
Another knock.
This time softer.
“Please open the door.”
I took one step toward the entrance.
Daniel grabbed my wrist.
“No.”
“That’s my sister.”
“It’s not safe.”
“What if she needs help?”
“What if that’s exactly what they want you to think?”
I stared at him.
Then I heard something from upstairs.
A small movement.
A door opening.
“Mom?”
Chloe.
I immediately turned.
“Stay upstairs!”
She appeared at the top of the staircase anyway, clutching the railing.
“What’s happening?”
“Go back to your room.”
“Is someone here?”
Daniel ran upstairs.
I followed.
Chloe’s eyes were wide.
“Aunt Lauren?”
She had heard the voice.
I knelt beside her.
“Sweetheart, go into your room and lock the door.”
“But—”
“Now.”
Something in my voice finally convinced her.
She disappeared inside.
Daniel closed her door.
Then he turned toward me.
“We need to call the police.”
I reached for my phone.
Before I could dial, it rang.
Unknown number.
I answered without speaking.
A man’s voice said:
“Don’t open the door.”
I froze.
“Who is this?”
“Your husband knows.”
The call ended.
I looked at Daniel.
“You knew this was going to happen.”
“No.”
“Then why did he say you know?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop saying that!”
My voice echoed through the hallway.
Silence.
Then something slid underneath the front door.
A white envelope.
Daniel and I stared at it.
Neither of us moved.
Finally, Daniel approached.
He crouched down and picked it up.
There was no name on it.
No address.
Nothing.
Inside was a single photograph.
Lauren.
Standing in front of a building.
She looked thinner than I remembered.
Her hair was shorter.
Her face was bruised.
And behind her was a sign:
RIVERSIDE WOMEN’S CORRECTIONAL FACILITY
I looked at Daniel.
“She really was in prison.”
“Yes.”
“Then who is outside?”
Neither of us knew.
Another paper fell from the envelope.
This time, there were only two lines.
SHE DIDN’T ESCAPE.
SHE WAS RELEASED.
My heart pounded.
“Released?”
Daniel picked up his phone.
“I’ll call the police.”
But before he could, the knocking stopped.
The silence that followed was worse.
Daniel opened the security camera app.
The front porch was empty.
“She’s gone.”
I moved closer.
“Check the driveway.”
Nothing.
“The street.”
Empty.
“Backyard.”
Nothing.
Then Daniel stopped.
“What?”
He zoomed in.
There was a shadow near the side gate.
Someone was standing there.
The image was blurry.
But the person wasn’t moving.
Daniel called the police.
Within minutes, patrol cars arrived.
Officers searched the property.
They found nobody.
But one officer discovered something near the side gate.
A small black device.
He picked it up carefully.
“What is that?”
He looked at Daniel.
“A tracker.”
My stomach dropped.
“A tracker?”
“Yes.”
“Was it on our property?”
“It was attached to the fence.”
The officer looked at us.
“Has anyone had access to your home recently?”
I thought about Lauren.
Then about the unknown man.
Then about the messages.
“Yes.”
My voice shook.
“My sister.”
The officer asked:
“Is she supposed to be incarcerated?”
“Yes.”
He exchanged a look with his partner.
“Then you need to come with us.”
“Why?”
“We found something else.”
He led us toward the backyard.
Near the garage was a patch of disturbed soil.
Someone had dug there.
Not recently.
But recently enough.
“What is that?”
The officer crouched.
“That’s what we’re trying to determine.”
He brushed away some dirt.
A corner of a plastic container appeared.
Daniel stepped backward.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“I buried something there.”
The officer turned.
“You buried something?”
Daniel’s face went pale.
“Three years ago.”
I stared at him.
“You never told me.”
“I know.”
“What did you bury?”
Daniel looked at the ground.
“Evidence.”
The officer immediately ordered everyone away.
They brought in a forensic team.
We waited inside while they excavated.
Chloe remained upstairs.
She kept asking if she could come down.
I told her everything was okay.
It wasn’t.
Nothing was okay anymore.
After nearly an hour, an investigator entered the house carrying a sealed evidence bag.
Inside was an old external hard drive.
Daniel looked at it.
“I thought it was destroyed.”
The investigator frowned.
“You knew this was here?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you bury it?”
Daniel looked at me.
“I thought I was protecting our family.”
I couldn’t help myself.
“That’s what you said last time.”
He looked down.
The investigator opened his notebook.
“Mr. Daniel, this device may be connected to the investigation from three years ago.”
“What investigation?”
“The one involving your former supervisor.”
Daniel nodded.
The investigator continued.
“And potentially the attack involving your sister.”
Daniel said nothing.
Then the investigator asked:
“Did you know your sister had contact with anyone from that investigation?”
Daniel shook his head.
“I didn’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
The investigator placed another photograph on the table.
It was a surveillance image.
Lauren was sitting inside a café.
Across from her sat the man.
The same man Daniel had identified.
But there was something else.
Someone else was sitting at the next table.
I leaned closer.
My heart stopped.
It was my mother.
I stared at the photograph.
“No.”
Daniel looked at me.
“What?”
“My mother.”
The investigator nodded.
“She appears in several photographs.”
I couldn’t speak.
“My mother was out of state when Lauren attacked us.”
“We know.”
“Then why was she meeting him?”
“We don’t know yet.”
I picked up the photograph.
“When were these taken?”
“Three months before the attack.”
I felt dizzy.
“Three months?”
“Yes.”
I looked at Daniel.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
My hands were shaking.
“Did my mother know about the laptop?”
“I don’t know.”
The investigator placed another photograph on the table.
This one showed my mother leaving the café.
Lauren and the man remained inside.
Then another photograph.
My mother handing something to Lauren.
A small envelope.
I looked at Daniel.
“What is happening?”
He didn’t answer.
The investigator did.
“We believe your family may have been under observation long before the attack.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
“Then find out.”
He nodded.
“We’re trying.”
That night, we stayed at a hotel.
The police advised us not to return home until they could determine whether the house had been compromised.
Chloe slept between us.
Daniel stayed awake.
I knew because every time I opened my eyes, he was staring at the ceiling.
Around 2:00 a.m., he finally spoke.
“I need to tell you something.”
I turned toward him.
“What?”
“Three years ago, I wasn’t the only person who found out about the leak.”
“Who else?”
“My supervisor’s assistant.”
“Where is she now?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Dead.”
I sat up.
“What?”
“She died six months after the investigation.”
“How?”
“Car accident.”
I stared at him.
“Was it an accident?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you suspect it wasn’t.”
He looked away.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she had the backup drive.”
My heart began racing.
“The one we found tonight?”
“No.”
Daniel shook his head.
“That was a copy.”
“What was on the original?”
“Everything.”
“What happened to it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who had it?”
“My supervisor.”
“And now?”
“Missing.”
I looked at him.
“Daniel, how long have you known this?”
“Three years.”
I couldn’t believe it.
“You kept all of this from me.”
“I was trying to keep you safe.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I know.”
“But look where your secrets got us.”
He closed his eyes.
“I know.”
I turned away.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then Chloe suddenly sat upright.
“Mom.”
I turned.
“What happened?”
She was staring at the hotel window.
“There.”
I looked.
Nothing.
“What do you see?”
“The light.”
“What light?”
She pointed.
“Across the street.”
There was a single apartment building opposite the hotel.
One window was illuminated.
I couldn’t see anyone inside.
Then the light went out.
Chloe whispered:
“That was the person from our house.”
Daniel immediately got up.
He pulled the curtains shut.
“We’re leaving.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere they can’t find us.”
The police moved us to another location.
For two days, nothing happened.
No calls.
No messages.
No strange cars.
No photographs.
I started to believe maybe the threat had ended.
Then the investigator called.
He told us they had examined the hard drive.
They had recovered deleted files.
One folder was labeled:
FAMILY
I felt cold.
“What was inside?”
The investigator paused.
“Photographs.”
“Of us?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Hundreds.”
My heart dropped.
“From when?”
“Three years ago.”
I looked at Daniel.
The investigator continued.
“Some were taken outside your house.”
“What else?”
“There are photographs of your workplace.”
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
“And Chloe’s school.”
I closed my eyes.
Someone had been watching us.
Not for weeks.
Not for months.
For years.
Then the investigator said something that made my blood freeze.
“There are also photographs of your mother.”
I sat down.
“What kind?”
“Photographs of her meeting different people.”
“Who?”
“We’re still identifying them.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
Then he said:
“There is one more thing.”
“What?”
“The photographs stop twelve months before the attack.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever was taking them appears to have switched to video.”
I couldn’t speak.
“Video?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Sixteen hours of footage.”
My hands went numb.
“Where?”
“From inside your house.”
I stared at Daniel.
He looked as shocked as I was.
“Inside?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
The investigator’s voice became quieter.
“In your daughter’s bedroom.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“No.”
“It’s there.”
“No.”
“We’re reviewing it now.”
I stood up.
“Does Chloe appear in it?”
“Yes.”
I covered my mouth.
Daniel grabbed my hand.
“Is she safe?”
“We believe so.”
“Believe?”
“We haven’t finished reviewing everything.”
I closed my eyes.
The thought of someone secretly recording my daughter made me physically sick.
Then the investigator said:
“There is something you need to see.”
“What?”
“We found footage from the night before the attack.”
My heart stopped.
“What does it show?”
“A person entering your home.”
“Lauren?”
“No.”
The investigator paused.
“Your mother.”
I looked at Daniel.
My mother had told me she was hundreds of miles away.
The investigator continued.
“She entered at 11:42 p.m.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
“Did she leave?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“12:18 a.m.”
“That was the night before?”
“Yes.”
I couldn’t understand.
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
“We don’t know.”
Then the investigator said:
“You should ask her.”
I immediately called my mother.
She answered on the second ring.
“Sweetheart?”
“Mom.”
“What happened?”
“Were you at my house the night before the attack?”
Silence.
A long, terrible silence.
Then she whispered:
“Who told you?”
My heart dropped.
“You were there?”
“Listen to me.”
“Why?”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because I was trying to protect you.”
I closed my eyes.
Everyone kept saying the same thing.
Protect you.
Protect you.
Protect you.
But every secret had only brought us closer to danger.
“Mom,” I said, “what did you do in my house that night?”
She began crying.
“I went there to remove something.”
“What?”
“The drive.”
I looked at Daniel.
“What drive?”
“The original.”
My mother whispered:
“Daniel wasn’t supposed to know it existed.”
I looked at my husband.
He was staring at me.
My mother continued:
“I thought I had destroyed it.”
“You didn’t.”
“No.”
“Where is it?”
She started crying harder.
“I don’t know.”
“Mom.”
“I don’t know!”
Then she whispered:
“But I know who has it.”
I gripped the phone.
“Who?”
My mother hesitated.
Then she said a name.
A name I had never heard before.
A name Daniel recognized immediately.
His face turned white.
“Who?” I demanded.
My mother whispered:
“Your father’s old business partner.”
I looked at Daniel.
He mouthed:
“That’s impossible.”
I asked:
“Why?”
My mother answered:
“Because he’s dead.”
The line went silent.
I thought the call had dropped.
“Mom?”
No answer.
“Mom?”
Then I heard a man’s voice on her phone.
Not my mother’s.
A man’s.
He said:
“She shouldn’t have told you that.”
The call ended.
I stood frozen.
Daniel grabbed my shoulders.
“What happened?”
I looked at him.
“Someone else was with her.”
His eyes widened.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
Then my phone received another photograph.
I opened it.
It was my mother.
Standing outside a house.
But the house wasn’t ours.
It was an old property I had never seen before.
And beside her stood a man.
I zoomed in.
My breath caught.
The man was older.
Gray hair.
Thin face.
Dark coat.
Daniel looked at the picture.
He didn’t speak.
“Who is he?”
Daniel swallowed.
“That’s him.”
“Who?”
“The man my supervisor reported dead three years ago.”
I stared at the photograph.
“That can’t be.”
“I know.”
“Then how—”
My phone buzzed again.
A final message appeared.
NOW YOU KNOW WHY LAUREN WAS ONLY THE BEGINNING.
I looked toward the hotel door.
Someone knocked.
Three times.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Daniel pulled Chloe closer.
I whispered:
“Who is it?”
A man’s voice answered from the hallway.
“Your husband knows.”
Daniel’s eyes filled with terror.
Then the voice added:
“And this time…”
A pause.
“…I’m not leaving without the drive.”
The door handle began to turn.
And I realized something that made the blood drain from my face.
The hotel room was supposed to be secure.
Nobody knew where we were.
Except the police.
Except the investigator.
Except—
I looked at Daniel.
He was staring at his phone.
A new message had appeared.
From an unknown number.
CHECK WHO GAVE THE POLICE YOUR LOCATION.
Daniel looked up at me.
Neither of us spoke.
Because suddenly, the question wasn’t whether someone was watching us.
The question was:
Who was helping them?
TO BE CONTINUED — PART 5 (FINAL PART)
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