Chapter 8 - The Voice Through the Vent
I turned toward Martin.
He stood at the top of the stairs, one hand resting on the frame.
Mom’s lips moved again.
He pushed me.
Raymond saw the accusation pass between us.
“Margaret is confused,” he said quickly. “She stumbled when Martin tried to steady her.”
Martin descended two steps.
“She became combative.”
Mom pressed one hand against the cut near her temple.
“I said no pills.”
His expression remained calm.
“You needed medication.”
“You pushed me.”
This time she said it aloud.
The basement seemed to contract around us.
Raymond stood.
“Claire, take your mother upstairs.”
Martin looked at him sharply.
That was not the response he expected.
I moved to Mom before either man could change his mind. Her body trembled as I helped her stand.
“Can you walk?”
“Yes.”
She couldn’t.
Her left leg folded beneath her, and I caught her under the arms.
Raymond stepped forward as if to help.
“Don’t touch her.”
His eyes shifted toward the wall above the workbench.
The ventilation grille.
For one terrible second, I thought he knew Luke was listening.
Then a faint scrape came from inside the shaft.
Raymond froze.
“What was that?”
“Rats,” I said.
“This house doesn’t have rats.”
Martin climbed back toward the door.
“I’ll check the workshop.”
I tightened my grip on Mom.
If Martin found Luke, the plan was over.
Raymond looked at me, then at the vent.
“Stay here.”
He followed Martin upstairs.
The basement door closed.
I moved fast.
“Mom, where are your shoes?”
“Bedroom.”
“We don’t have time.”
She grabbed my wrist.
“The box.”
“What about it?”
“Your father made two.”
A sound came through the vent.
Luke’s voice, barely audible.
“Claire.”
I crossed to the grille.
“Are you recording?”
“Yes, but you need to hear this.”
He pressed his phone close to the opening and played back the last minute.
First came Mom’s voice refusing medication.
Then Martin’s.
“You don’t get to change your mind now.”
A scuffle.
Mom cried out.
Then Raymond spoke from farther away.
“Not on the stairs, Martin. We need the injuries to match the report.”
My blood went cold.
Luke paused the recording.
“That proves coordination,” I whispered.
“There’s more.”
He played the next section.
Martin said, “The daughter arrived early.”
Raymond answered, “Luke said Friday.”
I stared at the vent.
Luke stopped the audio.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“I told Raymond you were coming Friday.”
“You told him?”
“To give Mom time.”
“I arrived today because you called me.”
Luke’s silence stretched.
Three nights earlier, he had sent a short message after years of distance.
Mom keeps asking for you. Come before Friday. Don’t tell anyone.
I had believed he was warning me.
Now I wondered whether he had scheduled me.
“Why Friday?” I asked.
“Raymond plans to move her.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
Footsteps crossed the kitchen above us.
Luke whispered, “Martin’s coming.”
A metallic bang echoed through the vent.
Then the recording changed.
Another voice came from Luke’s phone.
It was distorted by the shaft, low and muffled, but unmistakably female.
“She cannot leave the house until Claire signs.”
I stopped breathing.
“Play it again.”
Luke did.
The woman’s voice continued.
“If the daughter refuses, use the theft report. The original still has her fingerprints.”
I knew that voice.
Not from childhood.
From work.
It belonged to Eleanor Price, the attorney who had represented me when Raymond accused me of stealing Mom’s bracelet six years earlier.
The woman who had advised me to leave town and “let the family cool down.”
The workshop door crashed open.
Luke’s recording cut off.
A second later, Raymond’s voice came through the vent.
“I knew you’d choose your sister.”
May you like
Then I heard a heavy impact and Luke’s phone clattered across the floor.
📖 Learn why Claire’s former attorney was connected to the forged theft report—and what Raymond did after discovering Luke beneath the workshop in CHAPTER 9. 👇
