Chapter 6: The Videos of Me
Nobody spoke during the drive home.
Detective Ruiz wouldn’t let Mom or Dad enter until officers finished checking the property.
I sat in the back of Ruiz’s car between my parents.
Mom held one hand.
Dad held the other.
They hadn’t touched each other once.
But neither would let go of me.
When we reached our street, blue lights flashed against the houses.
Neighbors watched from windows.
An officer carried a laptop onto our porch.
Ruiz turned toward my parents.
“Emma should not see these videos until we know what they contain.””
“I agree,” Dad said.
Mom nodded.
I didn’t.
“They’re videos of me.””
“That doesn’t mean you need to watch them,” Mom said.
“What if I remember something?””
Her eyes filled with pain.
“You’re eight. You shouldn’t have to solve this.””
“But nobody else did.””
Silence.
Dad looked away.
I hadn’t meant to hurt him.
But I had.
Ruiz arranged for a female officer named Jenna to sit with me in the kitchen.
The adults went into the dining room.
They closed the sliding door.
Almost.
There was still a narrow gap.
I could hear them.
Ruiz said, “There are forty-three videos.””
Dad whispered something I couldn’t hear.
“Dates?”” Mom asked.
“Over approximately nine months.””
“Before Claire disappeared?”” Dad asked.
“Yes.””
My stomach twisted.
Officer Jenna put a glass of water in front of me.
“You don’t have to listen.””
“I know.””
I listened anyway.
Ruiz continued.
“Most appear to be taken from cameras hidden inside this house.””
Dad’s chair scraped.
“No.””
“Daniel—”
“No. I installed the security system myself.””
“These aren’t your security cameras.””
Mom asked, “Where?””
“Living room. Hallway. Emma’s bedroom.””
Dad’s voice became terrifyingly quiet.
“My daughter’s bedroom?””
Jenna reached toward the door.
I stopped her.
“Please.””
She looked at me.
Then withdrew her hand.
Ruiz said, “We’re treating this as a serious criminal investigation.””
Dad asked, “Can you identify who installed them?””
“Not yet.””
“Show me.””
“Daniel—”
“SHOW ME.””
Silence.
Then a video played.
I heard my own voice.
I was singing.
A silly song about pancakes.
I remembered that morning.
Mom was still living with us.
Dad laughed weakly.
“That’s from January.””
Another video.
Me asleep.
Another.
Me sitting on the floor playing with blocks.
Another.
Vanessa entered my bedroom.
Dad said, “Pause.””
The room went silent.
Mom whispered, “What is she doing?””
Ruiz resumed the footage.
I moved closer to the door.
Vanessa’s recorded voice came faintly through the laptop speakers.
She was talking on her phone.
“No. Claire still suspects something.””
A man answered, too muffled to understand.
Vanessa said, “Daniel will sign it. He trusts me.””
Pause.
Then:
“If Claire interferes again, we use Emma.””
Mom made a choking sound.
Dad exploded.
“I’M GOING TO KILL HER.””
“Daniel,” Ruiz snapped.
“She was standing beside my child’s bed!””
“And if you go after Vanessa, you make my job harder.””
“She threatened Emma!””
“And I need you here, not in handcuffs.””
That silenced him.
Ruiz played another file.
Vanessa again.
This time she was kneeling beside my dollhouse.
She opened the hidden compartment.
Mom gasped.
“What date?””
“Three months ago.””
“But the drive was still there yesterday,” Mom said.
Ruiz paused.
“Then she wasn’t taking the drive.””
“What was she doing?””
They watched.
Vanessa reached into the compartment.
She placed something inside.
Then closed it.
Dad asked, “What did she put there?””
Ruiz zoomed in.
“A key.””
Mom touched the chain around her neck.
“My key?””
“No.””
Ruiz enlarged the image.
“It looks like a safe-deposit key.””
Mom suddenly stood.
“Oh God.””
“What?”” Dad asked.
“The hotel card.””
“Claire, you said you threw it away.””
“I did.””
“What aren’t you telling me?””
Mom paced.
“The hotel card had a bank logo written on the back.””
Ruiz asked, “Which bank?””
“First County.””
Dad frowned.
“What does that have to do with a safe-deposit key?””
“I don’t know.””
But Mom clearly had an idea.
Ruiz opened the next video.
This one showed Vanessa returning to the dollhouse weeks later.
She reached into the compartment.
Removed the key.
Then held it toward the camera.
Almost deliberately.
A man entered the bedroom.
Only his back was visible.
Tall.
Dark jacket.
Vanessa handed him the key.
He said something.
Ruiz increased the volume.
“Are you sure the girl doesn’t remember me?””
My skin turned cold.
I knew that voice.
The caller.
Vanessa answered, “She was six.””
Six.
Not eight.
Dad immediately caught it.
“Six?””
Mom whispered, “This started two years ago?””
On-screen, the man turned slightly.
Not enough to show his entire face.
But enough.
I screamed.
Everyone rushed into the kitchen.
Dad dropped beside me.
“What happened?””
“That’s him!””
“Who?””
“The man!””
“From Vanessa’s picture?””
I shook my head violently.
“No.””
Everyone stared.
My heart hammered.
I had finally remembered.
A night two years earlier.
Thunder outside.
I had gotten out of bed because I wanted Mom.
As I walked down the hallway, I saw a man standing inside Dad’s office.
He was taking papers from the desk.
I thought he was Dad’s friend.
Then Vanessa came through the back door.
She saw me.
Her face changed.
She walked over, crouched, and said:
“You’re dreaming, Emma.””
The next morning, I told Mom.
Mom checked the office.
Nothing seemed missing.
Everyone convinced me it had been a nightmare.
But it wasn’t.
“I saw him in Daddy’s office.””
Dad stared at me.
“When?””
“When I was six.””
Mom covered her mouth.
“What did he take?””
“Papers.””
“What papers?””
“I don’t know.””
Dad looked toward his home office.
Then suddenly ran.
We followed him.
He unlocked a filing cabinet and started pulling folders out.
Taxes.
Insurance.
Property records.
Business documents.
Then he stopped.
An empty hanging folder remained between two others.
Dad stared at its label.
“What?”” Mom asked.
He lifted it.
Inside was nothing.
“What was supposed to be there?”” Ruiz asked.
Dad looked at Mom.
“Our life insurance policies.””
Mom frowned.
“Why would someone steal insurance policies?””
“Not just ours.””
Dad’s voice shook.
“My father’s.””
I had barely known Grandpa Robert.
He died when I was four.
Dad continued.
“My father had a policy and a trust.””
Mom stepped closer.
“How much?””
“Five million.””
Her eyes widened.
“I thought that went to you.””
“It did.””
“Then why does it matter?””
“Because I never collected it.””
Nobody moved.
Mom whispered, “What?””
“I refused the payout.””
“Why?””
Dad sat down heavily.
“My father died in a car accident. The insurance company flagged something in the paperwork. They wanted another investigation.””
“What kind of problem?””
“The beneficiary had been changed six weeks before he died.””
Mom stared.
“Changed to whom?””
“Me.””
Ruiz’s attention sharpened.
“You didn’t request the change?””
“No.””
“So you refused the money.””
“Yes.””
“What happened to it?””
“Frozen pending investigation.””
Mom whispered, “Daniel, why have you never told me this?””
“Because the investigation ended.””
“How?””
“The original paperwork disappeared.””
Ruiz stared at him.
“From where?””
“The insurance company claimed it had been misplaced during a records transfer.””
Mom slowly turned toward the empty folder.
“And your copies?””
Dad looked at me.
“Apparently someone took them.””
Ruiz returned to the laptop.
“There are more videos.””
The next file showed the same man in our office two years ago.
This time the camera angle caught his face.
Dad leaned closer.
Mom did too.
Neither recognized him.
But I did.
“He’s the man in Vanessa’s restaurant picture.””
Ruiz froze the frame.
Then she opened another file recovered from the red drive.
A scanned document appeared.
At the top:
*ROBERT HARPER FAMILY TRUST*
Dad whispered, “That’s my father’s trust.””
Ruiz scrolled.
There were signatures.
Amendments.
Account numbers.
Then a scanned death certificate.
Dad’s face tightened.
“This shouldn’t be here.””
Mom pointed lower.
“What’s that?””
Ruiz enlarged a handwritten note.
Three names appeared.
ROBERT HARPER.
DANIEL HARPER.
EMMA HARPER.
Beside Grandpa’s name was a date.
The date he died.
Beside Dad’s name was another date.
Next month.
Dad stopped breathing.
Mom grabbed him.
“What does that mean?””
Nobody answered.
Then Ruiz scrolled lower.
There was one final line beside my name.
No date.
Just two words.
*FINAL BENEFICIARY.*
May you like
And underneath, in Vanessa’s handwriting:
*Only if Daniel dies first.*
