Chapter 8 - The Brass Key
As the two paramedics carefully lifted Claire onto the mobile gurney, the movement caused her right hand to slip out from beneath the white sheet.
Her fingers uncurled.
A small, heavy object fell from her palm, bouncing softly against the thick living room rug.
CLINK.
It was a small, ornate brass key attached to a faded red ribbon.
I dropped to my knees, scooping the key into my hand.
I recognized it instantly.
It was the master key to the antique, heavy iron safe hidden behind the oil painting in my late father's private third-floor study.
My mother saw the key glinting in my hand under the chandelier lights.
All the remaining color in her face vanished completely. She took an involuntary step backward, grabbing the edge of the sofa to steady her shaking legs.
For the very first time that night, Evelyn looked genuinely, utterly terrified.
Whatever secret Claire had uncovered in that locked study hadn't died with her.
The evidence was still sitting inside that wall safe upstairs.
And now, the key was sitting in my hand.
I looked from the brass key up to my mother's pale face, then at my brother, who was currently being restrained near the front foyer by two police officers.
"Where is she going?" I asked the paramedic as they rolled the gurney toward the front doors.
"St. Jude’s Trauma Center, ICU unit four," the paramedic called back. "They're prepping an emergency C-section!"
I looked at the lead police officer, handing him my identification.
"Officer," I said, my voice dead level, my eyes burning with absolute resolve. "My mother and brother just attempted to murder my wife and unborn child. Do not let them leave this house."
I didn't head for the front door to follow the ambulance just yet.
May you like
I turned on my heel and headed straight for the grand staircase leading to the third floor.
Because before I rushed to my wife's bedside at the hospital, I was going to open that safe—and uncover the dark, poisonous truth my family had spent years trying to bury.
