Chapter 3 - CLAIRE'S LAST NIGHT
I couldn't stop watching.
Claire sat at the kitchen table.
Her face was swollen.
Her hands were shaking.
Margaret stood behind her.
Andrew was younger then.
Maybe twenty-four.
He was already wearing the same cold expression.
Claire looked into the camera.
“If anyone finds this…”
She swallowed.
“My name is Claire Benton.”
Margaret stepped closer.
Claire flinched.
“I married Andrew four months ago.”
My stomach tightened.
Four months.
That was how long Margaret had told me they had been grieving “a family friend.”
Claire continued.
“They say I'm sick.”
She looked directly at the camera.
“They say I'm unstable.”
Andrew walked into the frame.
“Stop recording.”
Claire began crying.
“You're going to hurt me.”
Andrew looked at his mother.
Margaret nodded.
The video ended.
I sat motionless.
Detective Collins closed the laptop.
“Claire disappeared two years later.”
“Was she ever found?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“Her family was told she left voluntarily.”
My father looked at me.
“Diana, this family is dangerous.”
“I know.”
Detective Collins leaned forward.
“We're investigating whether Claire's disappearance is connected to your case.”
“Do you think she was murdered?”
“We don't know.”
That uncertainty was worse than an answer.
Then Detective Collins asked:
“Did Andrew ever mention Claire?”
“Once.”
“What did he say?”
“That she had been obsessed with him.”
The detective wrote something down.
I suddenly remembered something.
A sentence Andrew had said during one of our arguments.
You're not the first woman to make this mistake.
At the time, I thought he meant trusting him.
Now I wondered.
My father suddenly asked:
“Where is Andrew?”
Detective Collins looked at him.
“Being questioned.”
“Is he arrested?”
“Not yet.”
My father became angry.
“He broke her leg.”
“We know.”
“He admitted he wanted to force her to quit her job.”
“We have witnesses.”
“Then arrest him.”
The detective looked at me.
“We need more.”
I understood.
Proof.
Not suspicion.
Not fear.
Proof.
So I gave them everything.
The bank statements.
The forged signatures.
The messages.
The recordings.
And Claire's video.
By evening, detectives searched the house.
They found hidden cameras.
They found my documents.
They found medication that wasn't mine.
Then they found a locked basement room.
Andrew had never allowed me downstairs.
He said it contained old family furniture.
The door was reinforced from the inside.
Inside were boxes.
Dozens.
Each box had a woman's name.
Claire.
Megan.
Susan.
Rachel.
And then mine.
My father nearly broke down when he saw it.
Detective Collins opened my box.
Inside were photographs.
My work schedule.
My bank balances.
My medical records.
My conversations with my parents.
And one photograph of me sleeping.
I felt sick.
But there was another folder.
On the cover, someone had written:
EXIT PLAN.
Inside was a list of instructions.
How to isolate me.
How to ruin my credit.
How to make me appear unstable.
How to make my injury look accidental.
The final instruction said:
WAIT UNTIL SHE HAS NO ONE LEFT.
Detective Collins looked at me.
“They've been planning this for a long time.”
I nodded.
Then she found a handwritten note.
It wasn't from Margaret.
It was from Andrew.
One sentence.
If Diana resists, use Claire's method.
My blood froze.
“What is Claire's method?”
May you like
Detective Collins looked at the basement floor.
“We're about to find out.”
