Chapter 8: Or Else
William showed the text to Patricia before she reached the front door.
She photographed it, forwarded it to Detective Reyes, and told William not to respond.
Then she made her calls from the front hallway, her voice low and efficient, while William sat at the dining room table with his phone face-down in front of him.
Emma brought him coffee.
Hot this time.
"Thank you," he said.
She sat across from him.
"Is Ethan still upstairs?"
"Mrs.
Calloway is with him." He meant the older housekeeper who came on weekday mornings.
"He's watching something.
He seems — steadier today.
Better than last night."
"Children are resilient," Emma said.
"When they feel safe."
"He doesn't feel safe yet." William wrapped both hands around the mug.
"He woke up twice last night.
I heard him through the monitor.
He didn't cry.
He just — went quiet again.
That's almost worse."
Emma nodded.
She knew that kind of quiet.
Patricia came back into the room.
"Detective Reyes is treating the text as a threat.
They're working to identify the number now.
It's likely a burner, but they'll try." She sat down.
"There's something else.
The detective called while I was on with her.
Isabella made a statement this morning at the precinct."
"What kind of statement?" William asked.
"She's claiming that Ethan asked to be in that room.
That it was a game.
That he had the code and could leave whenever he wanted."
The silence in the room was absolute.
"She's saying he chose to be there," Emma said.
"Yes."
"He was crying," Emma said.
"I heard him.
He said he wanted his dad."
"I know." Patricia kept her voice level.
"Her attorney is arguing that the recording is ambiguous.
That a child crying doesn't prove imprisonment.
That the room, while unconventional, was not dangerous."
"He was in there for five days," William said.
"They're saying two days.
That he came and went freely for the first three."
William stood up.
The chair scraped back hard.
He walked to the window and stood with his back to the room.
"She's going to fight this," he said.
"Yes," Patricia said.
"She's going to fight every piece of it.
That's why the forged letter matters.
That's why the financial records matter.
That's why Emma's recording matters.
She can dispute one thing.
She cannot dispute all of it at once." She paused.
"But I want to be honest with you.
This will not be quick.
And it will not be quiet."
William turned around.
"What does she want?
Underneath all of it — what does she actually want?"
"My read?" Patricia said.
"She wants to avoid prison.
Everything else — the letter, the threats, the statement — it's all aimed at that.
She's trying to create enough doubt, enough noise, enough alternative narrative that a jury can't be certain."
"Can she succeed?"
"Not with what we have.
But she doesn't know everything we have yet." Patricia looked at Emma.
"The recording is clean?"
"Yes," Emma said.
"I checked it last night.
You can hear every word."
"And you pressed record before she said anything incriminating?"
"Before she said a single word."
Patricia nodded slowly.
"Then we're in a strong position.
But I want one more thing." She looked at William.
"The staff.
Anyone who was working that night.
Anyone who saw Isabella in that corridor, or who noticed the painting had been moved before, or who heard anything unusual in that part of the house." She paused.
"Isabella didn't build that room alone.
She didn't maintain it alone.
Someone helped her.
Someone knew."
The room went quiet again.
Emma thought about the past month.
The small things she had noticed and set aside.
The new keypad on the basement utility door that she'd been told was a security upgrade.
The afternoon two weeks ago when Isabella had sent all the household staff out on errands at the same time — something she'd never done before.
The morning Emma had found a food tray outside the staff corridor and assumed one of the other workers had left it.
"The tray," Emma said.
Patricia looked at her.
"What tray?"
"About ten days ago.
There was a food tray outside the staff corridor.
Plate, cup, napkin.
I assumed someone had left it by mistake.
I brought it to the kitchen." She paused.
"It wasn't a mistake."
"That's Ethan's meal," William said.
He said it very quietly.
"She was feeding him," Emma said.
"Which means she was going in and out of that room regularly.
Which means other staff may have seen her.
They may not have known what they were seeing, but they saw it."
Patricia opened her briefcase again.
"I need a list of every staff member who worked in this house over the past six weeks.
Names, schedules, contact information."
"I can get that," Emma said.
"Today, if possible."
"I'll have it within the hour."
Patricia looked at William.
"One more thing.
Isabella's sister.
The one who called this morning.
She may not know the full extent of what Isabella did.
She may have been used as a messenger without understanding what she was carrying." She paused.
"Or she may know everything.
We need to find out which."
William's phone buzzed again.
He turned it over.
Same unknown number.
This time, just one word.
*Well?*
Patricia held out her hand.
William gave her the phone.
"Don't respond," she said.
"Don't look at it again.
Let us handle it."
She took the phone and walked back into the hallway.
William stood alone in the dining room for a moment.
Then he looked at Emma.
"She said I don't know how to run this family alone," he said.
"Last night.
That was the last thing she said to me."
Emma met his eyes.
"She was wrong."
He looked at the closed lid of the wooden box on the table.
"I hope so," he said.
Upstairs, Ethan laughed at something on the television.
The sound came down through the ceiling — sudden, unguarded, briefly ordinary.
May you like
William looked up at it.
Then he picked up the wooden box and carried it out of the room.
