Chapter 4: The Safe Behind the Portrait
For several seconds after the call ended, nobody spoke.
The hotel room seemed unnaturally quiet. Even the traffic outside sounded distant, as though Atlanta had moved to the other side of a wall.
I stared at my phone.
“My father was murdered,” I whispered.
Daniel Brooks rubbed both hands over his face.
“Lucienne, we need to be careful. An anonymous caller isn't evidence.””
Grace stood beside the window, pulling the curtains closed.
“He's right about one thing,” she said.
“Edward will get to the house before we do if we waste time.””
I turned toward her.
“You've been gone for twenty-five years. How do you know what Edward will do?””
She hesitated.
“Because I saw him do it to someone else.””
“To whom?””
Grace's eyes drifted toward the silver bracelet on her wrist.
“A woman who tried to help me escape.””
Before I could ask another question, Daniel stepped between us.
“Lucienne, your father left detailed estate records. If this safe exists, we can establish what was inside through the trust documents.””
“No,” Grace said sharply.
“You don't understand. Paperwork is what Edward uses to make people disappear.””
Daniel's expression hardened.
“I've been your sister's attorney for eleven years, Lucienne. I am not going to let you run into a potentially dangerous situation without considering the consequences.””
“And I'm not going to spend another night listening to strangers tell me what I can and cannot do,” I replied.
I picked up my purse.
“We're going home.””
Daniel insisted on accompanying us. I allowed it because I needed someone who understood the legal side of my father's estate, but I made one thing clear.
“Whatever we find in that house, you don't call Edward.””
Daniel raised both hands.
“Agreed.””
Grace refused to sit beside Marcus in the SUV. I understood why now, so I asked Daniel to drive his own car while Grace and I took the rear seats.
Marcus opened the door for us.
“Where are we going, Ms. Lucienne?””
I looked directly at him.
“Home.””
He nodded, but something in his expression made my stomach tighten.
As we pulled away, I caught him looking down at his phone.
He was typing.
I couldn't see the screen.
For the first time in six years, I wondered whether the man who had driven me to hospitals and funerals had ever truly been on my side.
Our childhood home stood on a quiet street outside Atlanta, surrounded by old oak trees and a white fence that my father had insisted be repainted every spring.
I had inherited the property after his death but rarely visited. The memories were too heavy, and the rooms felt like a museum dedicated to the family I had lost.
Grace stared through the windshield as we approached.
“It's still here,” she whispered.
I reached for her hand.
“Of course it is.””
She shook her head.
“I thought he'd sell it.””
The front gate stood open.
That was the first thing I noticed.
The second was the black sedan parked beside the garage.
“Daniel,” I said quietly.
“Stop the car.””
He pulled to the curb.
The sedan's windows were dark. No one appeared to be inside.
Grace immediately ducked below the dashboard.
“Don't let him see me.””
I looked at the house, my heart pounding.
“Who?””
She whispered a name.
“Edward.””
Daniel called his office and asked his assistant to contact the police. Then he followed us toward the front entrance, carrying his briefcase like a shield.
I unlocked the door.
The smell of cedar and old furniture greeted us. Everything appeared untouched. The grandfather clock still stood in the hallway, and my mother's porcelain vase remained on the console table.
But the air smelled faintly of cigarette smoke.
My father had never smoked.
Someone had been inside.
“Stay here,” I told Grace.
She grabbed my sleeve.
“No. We go together.””
We walked into the living room.
Above the fireplace hung a large portrait of my parents on their wedding day. My mother wore a pearl necklace, and my father looked impossibly young, with dark hair and a smile that had once made me believe he could fix anything.
I approached the painting.
The combination was the date I was born.
June 14.
My hands shook as I removed the portrait from its hooks. Behind it sat a steel safe embedded in the wall.
Daniel crouched beside me.
“Your father never mentioned this in the estate inventory.””
I entered the numbers.
The lock clicked.
Inside lay three thick folders, a small velvet box, a flash drive, and a sealed envelope bearing my name.
I opened the velvet box first.
A second silver bracelet rested inside.
Identical to Grace's.
Except this one had a tiny gold key attached to its clasp.
Grace gasped.
“He made another one.””
I turned toward her.
“What do you mean?””
“When I was ten, Dad told me he had something special made for both of us. He gave me mine. He said yours was hidden somewhere safe.””
I looked down at the bracelet.
For twenty-five years, I had believed our father had erased Grace from his life.
Yet he had kept a matching bracelet in a hidden safe.
Perhaps he hadn't wanted her forgotten.
Perhaps he had been trying to leave a way back.
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a single handwritten page.
Lucy, if you are reading this, then I failed to protect both my daughters.
My breath caught.
You will be told that Grace was taken because I owed money. You will be told that I betrayed her to protect the family. Both stories contain pieces of the truth, but neither explains why she disappeared.
I kept reading.
The key opens a deposit box at the old Peachtree Bank. Inside is the original document that proves who arranged Grace's disappearance.
A noise came from the hallway.
Footsteps.
Daniel stood abruptly.
“Who's there?””
No answer.
Then a man's voice called from the entrance.
“Lucienne? You really should have stayed at the hotel.””
Edward Vale stepped into the living room, holding a leather folder.
He looked at the open safe.
Then at the matching bracelet in my hand.
For the first time since I'd known him, Edward didn't bother pretending to be pleased to see me.
“Put that down,” he ordered.
Grace stepped out from behind me.
Edward stared at her.
His face went white.
May you like
Then he slowly closed the front door.
“After all these years,” he murmured, “you should have stayed missing.””
