Chapter 4 - Whispers from the Past
The revelation about Sophia hit us like a second lightning strike. Six years ago, before Tyler ever met Rachel, he had been engaged to Sophia Sterling, the heiress to a regional banking fortune. Her death had been ruled an accidental drowning after an evening of drinking at the Vance estate in Greenwich. At the time, it was treated as a tragic misadventure.
Now, sitting in Marcus’s high-rise law office overlooking the city, the truth was beginning to bleed through the lies.
"Sophia’s family was too broken by grief to question the police findings back then," Marcus explained, pinning a photo of a beautiful, smiling blonde woman onto a whiteboard. "The coroner at the time was a man named Dr. Harold Brooks—who retired six months later to a waterfront villa in Costa Rica, paid for in cash."
"Paid for by the Vances," I realized, the horrifying pattern coming into full focus.
"Precisely," Marcus said. "I spoke with Sophia’s father, Richard Sterling, yesterday. When I told him what happened to Rachel and Lily, he broke down. He’s flying in from Chicago tonight. He wants to help us destroy them."
Rachel sat on the leather sofa, cradling Lily, who was cooing softly. "Tyler used to talk about Sophia sometimes," Rachel said, her voice quiet. "He always put on this sad, tragic persona... said he tried to save her, but he was too late. He made me feel like I was helping him heal. It was all a act. Every single word."
"He's a sociopath, Rachel," I said gently, sitting beside her. "He picks women with assets or status, drains them, and discards them."
"Not this time," Rachel said, her eyes flashing with a cold, sharp resolve I had never seen in her before. "He isn't discarding us."
The door to the office opened, and Marcus’s assistant stepped in. "Mr. Reed, Detective Miller is on line two. He says it’s urgent."
Marcus picked up the phone, listening intently. As he listened, his brows furrowed, and his expression grew increasingly dark. "Are you sure? ... Where is she now? ... Okay, keep a unit on her."
He hung up the phone and looked at us.
"What is it?" I asked, my anxiety spiking again.
"Vanessa just tried to change her statement," Marcus said grimly. "Her attorney called the prosecutor's office ten minutes ago. She’s claiming that Eleanor forced her to go along with the plan under threat of violence—and she’s offering to hand over a second set of recorded phone calls between Tyler and his mother planning the whole event."
"That sounds like good news," Rachel said, puzzled. "Why do you look so worried?"
"Because Vanessa isn't at the police station," Marcus said. "She fled her safe house an hour ago. And Detective Miller thinks someone paid her off—or someone is holding something over her head."
Before we could digest this, my phone buzzed on the glass coffee table. It was an unknown number.
I picked it up and pressed speaker. "Hello?"
A frantic, hyperventilating voice came through the speaker. It was Vanessa.
"Diane! Oh God, Diane, please help me!" she sobbed, static crackling over the line. "They’re going to kill me! They know I talked to the police!"
"Vanessa, where are you?" I demanded, standing up. "Where are you calling from?"
"The... the old boat house at the marina! Tyler’s uncle owns it!" she panicked, the sound of wind ripping through her microphone. "Eleanor’s men... they found me! They said if I don't sign a statement blaming Rachel for everything, I’ll end up like Sophia! Please, call the police! They’re outside—"
BANG.
A loud, shattering noise echoed through the speaker, followed by a muffled scream, the sound of a struggle, and then total silence.
"Vanessa!" I yelled into the phone. "Vanessa!"
The line went dead with a high-pitched dial tone.
Marcus was already pulling on his jacket and grabbing his car keys. "I’m calling Detective Miller right now. Diane, stay here with Rachel and the baby."
"No," Rachel said, standing up with incredible strength, handing Lily safely to Marcus’s trusted paralegal, Sarah. "I’m coming with you."
"Rachel, it’s too dangerous—" Marcus began.
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"They tried to end my life, Marcus," Rachel insisted, her voice unwavering. "I’m not sitting in an office waiting for another victim to drop. I'm coming."
Marcus looked at her for a long second, seeing the fierce mother and survivor standing before him. He nodded once. "Lock the doors, Sarah. Let's go."
