Chapter 10: The Shot Through the Window
Glass exploded across the dining room.
Dad threw himself over me.
Mom hit the floor beside us.
An officer dragged Vanessa backward as Detective Ruiz shouted, “Everybody down!””
A second crack split the night.
The wall behind Vanessa burst in a cloud of plaster.
“Rear hallway!”” Ruiz yelled.
“Move!””
Dad lifted me against his chest and ran.
I buried my face against his shoulder.
Mom stayed beside us.
Behind us, officers shouted into radios.
“Possible shooter across the street!””
“Lock down the rear!””
“Get units around the block!””
We reached the kitchen.
Dad crouched behind the island with me.
Mom touched my face.
“Emma, look at me.””
I couldn’t stop shaking.
“Are you hurt?””
I shook my head.
“Anywhere?””
“No.””
Dad checked my arms anyway.
Then Vanessa screamed from the dining room.
“Don’t shoot!””
Ruiz shouted something.
A chair crashed.
Dad tried to stand.
Mom grabbed him.
“No.””
“What’s happening?””
“You stay with Emma.””
An officer appeared.
“Shooter’s moving.””
“Did you see him?”” Dad asked.
“Black clothing. Male. We lost visual.””
Ruiz entered a second later, pulling Vanessa by the arm.
Vanessa had blood on her cheek from flying glass.
“He knows,” she gasped.
Ruiz shoved her behind cover.
“Knows what?””
“That I told you his name.””
“You screamed his name in a house surrounded by police?””
“No.””
Vanessa looked toward the shattered window.
“He didn’t come because he heard me.””
Her breathing became ragged.
“He came because he was already watching.””
Dad’s expression hardened.
“You said Graham followed you.””
“He did.””
“Then you brought him here.””
“I came here because this was the only house with police outside!””
“And he still fired through my window!””
Vanessa looked at me.
“I told you we wouldn’t make it downtown.””
Mom stepped between us.
“Stop looking at her.””
Vanessa lowered her eyes.
Ruiz’s radio crackled.
“Detective, house across the street is empty. Rear window open.””
Ruiz answered, “Search surrounding properties. Get traffic cameras.””
Another officer entered.
“We found the weapon.””
“Where?””
“Upstairs bedroom across the street.””
Vanessa whispered, “Then Graham’s gone.””
Ruiz looked at her.
“You seem certain.””
“He never keeps a weapon.””
“What does that mean?””
“He leaves everything behind.””
Dad stared.
“Like the red drive.””
Vanessa nodded.
“He controls the story by deciding what gets found.””
Ruiz went still.
The flash drive.
The trust documents.
The videos.
Everything had been placed where investigators could discover it.
“Then what are we supposed to believe?”” Mom asked.
Vanessa gave a bitter laugh.
“Exactly.””
Ruiz crouched in front of her.
“Tell me what Graham wants at the hospital.””
“The same thing he’s wanted for years.””
“Robert’s archive?””
“Yes.””
“And the footprint card is the key?””
“Maybe part of it.””
Dad looked confused.
“How can a baby footprint unlock financial records?””
Vanessa shook her head.
“Robert loved puzzles.””
“That’s your explanation?””
“He also knew Graham.””
Vanessa looked at Dad.
“Your father understood that if he wrote down a password, Graham would find it. If he gave it to Samuel, Graham could threaten Samuel. If he gave it to you, Graham could threaten you.””
“So he involved Emma?””
“He hid clues in things nobody would consider valuable.””
Mom whispered, “A child’s keepsakes.””
Vanessa nodded.
Dad’s anger returned.
“My father turned my daughter into a treasure map?””
“No.””
Vanessa’s voice softened.
“He turned his memories of her into one.””
Silence.
Then Ruiz’s phone rang.
She answered.
“Ruiz.””
Her face changed almost immediately.
“Repeat that.””
Dad watched her.
“What?””
Ruiz listened.
“When did it happen?””
Another pause.
“We’re coming.””
She ended the call.
“The hospital.””
Mom stood.
“What happened?””
“Someone broke into archived maternity records twenty minutes ago.””
Vanessa closed her eyes.
“Graham.””
“Was anything taken?”” Dad asked.
“Staff don’t know yet.””
“I’m going.””
Ruiz shook her head.
“No.””
“That clue points to my daughter’s birth record.””
“And somebody just fired into your house.””
“Which means waiting here isn’t safe either.””
Ruiz looked at the officers.
Then at Vanessa.
Finally she made a decision.
“Daniel and Claire come with me.””
“I’m coming too,” I said.
“No,” three adults answered simultaneously.
I crossed my arms.
“The clue is about me.””
Dad knelt.
“Emma, someone just shot at this house.””
“So don’t leave me here!””
That stopped him.
Mom looked at Ruiz.
“Can she come if she stays with an officer?””
Ruiz clearly hated the idea.
But leaving me behind required another secure location, another transport, another risk.
“Armored vehicle,” she said finally.
“Emma does not leave it until I say.””
Dad nodded.
Vanessa suddenly laughed.
Not happily.
Ruiz turned.
“What?””
“You’re doing exactly what Graham wants.””
“Which is?””
“Following Robert’s clues.””
Dad glared.
“What alternative do you suggest?””
“Make Graham follow you.””
Ruiz’s eyes narrowed.
Vanessa leaned forward.
“Tell nobody which hospital.””
“We already dispatched officers.””
“Then Graham already knows.””
“How?””
Vanessa looked around the room.
“Because he always knows.””
Ruiz stared at her.
Then she slowly looked toward the officers.
Dad noticed.
“You think someone in the department is helping him?””
“I think we stop assuming anything.””
She changed the destination instructions.
Two police vehicles left visibly toward the hospital.
We left six minutes later by another route.
Vanessa stayed behind under guard.
During the drive, Mom sat beside me.
Dad sat opposite.
Nobody spoke.
Then Mom’s phone buzzed.
A message.
No number.
Just a photograph.
The hospital nursery from eight years ago.
Mom stared.
“What?””
She showed Dad.
Under the photograph was one sentence.
*YOU’RE LOOKING IN THE WRONG PLACE.*
Then another image arrived.
A hospital room.
Room 417.
Mom gasped.
“That was my room.””
Dad leaned closer.
The picture had been taken the day I was born.
Mom lay asleep in the hospital bed.
Dad slept in a chair.
Baby me rested in the clear bassinet.
And beside the bassinet stood Grandpa Robert.
He wasn’t looking at me.
He was looking directly at the camera.
In his hand was the footprint card.
On the back, written in black marker, was something none of us had noticed before.
A number.
417-0319.
Dad whispered, “A code.””
Mom shook her head.
“No.””
“What?””
“0319.””
She looked at me.
“That was the time Emma was born.””
Dad stared at the photograph.
“So 417 is the room.””
“And 0319 is the time.””
Ruiz asked, “What does that unlock?””
Before anyone answered, another message appeared.
This time there was no photograph.
Only five words.
*ASK CLAIRE WHAT ROBERT GAVE HER.*
Dad slowly turned toward Mom.
Mom’s face drained of color.
“Claire?””
She didn’t answer.
“Claire, what did my father give you?””
Her hand went instinctively to her neck.
Not the brass key.
Something underneath her blouse.
Dad saw it.
So did Ruiz.
Mom pulled out a second chain.
Hanging from it was a tiny gold locket.
I had seen her wear it hundreds of times.
Dad stared.
“My father gave you that?””
Mom nodded.
“When Emma was born.””
“Open it.””
Mom’s fingers trembled.
Inside was a tiny photograph of baby me.
She removed it.
Behind the photograph was something else.
A paper-thin metal strip.
Eight digits were engraved into it.
Dad whispered, “You’ve had that for eight years?””
“I thought it was part of the locket.””
Ruiz leaned closer.
The numbers were:
41703192.
Then I said, “There’s writing.””
Mom turned the strip over.
May you like
Four words had been engraved on the back.
*NOT A PASSWORD. A BOX.*
