Chapter 8 - The Safe House|
The drive to the private clinic took just over an hour, winding deep into the forested outskirts of the city. The facility looked more like a secluded lodge than a medical center.
Carter led me into a sparse but comfortable room. “Rest here. Your body is still metabolizing the toxins. I’m going to make a few calls.”
Left alone, the silence was deafening. For seven years, Daniel had managed my entire life. He managed the finances, my schedule, and eventually, my sanity. I walked to the mirror in the small bathroom and stared at my reflection. My skin was pale, my eyes sunken with dark bags. I looked like a ghost.
Suddenly, my burner phone—which Carter had given me—buzzed.
It was a text from Mark, the lawyer.
“Sarah, if you’re reading this, I found something else. Patricia isn’t just backing Daniel; she orchestrated this. I have bank statements showing she bought the arsenic through a shell company in Mexico.”
I stared at the screen, my breath catching. Patricia. The woman who smiled at me every Thanksgiving and told me my pie was "almost perfect."
I ran out of the bathroom and found Carter in the hallway, speaking in hushed tones to a burly man in plainclothes.
“Carter,” I interrupted, shoving the phone toward him. “Look at this.”
Carter read the text, his jaw clenching. “This changes things. If Patricia bought the poison, this is a criminal conspiracy. We don’t just have Daniel; we have his mother.”
The burly man next to Carter pulled out a tablet. “Colonel, you might want to see this. We’ve tapped into the security cameras at Whitaker’s residence.”
May you like
On the screen, grainy black-and-white footage showed Daniel pacing his living room, a phone pressed to his ear. He looked furious, yelling and gesturing wildly.
“He knows,” the burly man said quietly. “He just found out the ICU bed is empty.”
