Chapter 8 - The Tracker Beneath the Dashboard
Rachel held the tracker between two fingers.
“We can’t remove it while it’s transmitting,” she said. “He’ll know the exact moment we find it.”
“He already knows we found it.”
“Not necessarily.”
I turned onto the main road, forcing myself to obey the speed limit. My hands trembled against the steering wheel. The pain in my shoulder had settled into a deep, sickening pulse.
“Where does he expect us to go?” I asked.
“Your grandmother’s attorney.”
“Samuel Reed?”
“Yes.”
Samuel had handled every legal document in my family for almost thirty years. He had called twice that week, asking to speak privately about the mansion. I had postponed both meetings because Julian insisted Samuel was trying to create conflict between us.
Another ordinary choice that now looked like part of a trap.
“Why would Julian want us to go there?”
“Because Samuel may have the blue ledger.”
“Or because Julian wants to know whether he does.”
Rachel placed the tracker inside a metal travel mug from the cup holder. The signal might weaken, but not disappear.
“Drive toward Samuel’s office,” she said. “Then turn before we reach it.”
“Where are we actually going?”
“A clinic.”
“I don’t have time.”
“You’re burned, Clara.”
“I know.”
“You could go into shock.”
“I know.”
Her voice sharpened. “Then stop acting like pain is proof you’re still in control.”
I looked at her.
For the first time, she did not seem mysterious or trained. She seemed frightened.
Not for herself.
For me.
I turned toward a twenty-four-hour urgent care center three miles away.
The waiting room was nearly empty. Rachel registered me under my maiden name while I kept my coat closed over the damaged blouse.
A physician examined the injury, treated it, and told me I needed monitoring. I refused hospital transfer.
“You could have complications,” she warned.
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
She studied my face, then handed me discharge instructions and quietly photographed the injury for the medical record.
Evidence.
A fact Julian could not explain away.
While Rachel paid in cash, I checked the hidden recorder. The file was intact.
Forty-three minutes.
Eleanor’s threats.
Julian’s demand.
The mention of property.
All of it.
But when I replayed the first seconds, another voice appeared beneath the kitchen sounds.
A man speaking through what sounded like an earpiece.
“Wait until she reaches the papers.”
I stopped the recording.
Rachel looked over.
“What is it?”
“Someone was directing them.”
“Julian?”
“The voice spoke before Julian said anything.”
I replayed the line.
Rachel’s expression changed.
She recognized it.
“Daniel?” I asked.
“No.”
“Then who?”
She glanced toward the clinic entrance.
A man in a dark coat stood outside the glass doors, watching us.
Not Julian.
Not one of the Mercer guards.
He raised his phone and photographed me.
Rachel grabbed my arm.
“Back exit. Now.”
We ran through the treatment corridor and pushed into an alley behind the clinic. My shoulder screamed with each step.
A parked pickup blocked one end. A brick wall blocked the other.
Rachel looked upward.
A fire escape.
Before we reached it, a side door opened.
Samuel Reed stepped into the alley, gray hair disheveled, blood on his collar.
He held a blue leather ledger against his chest.
“Clara,” he gasped, “your husband isn’t trying to steal the mansion.”
He thrust the ledger toward me.
May you like
“He’s trying to make sure you never discover who legally owns you.”
📖 Open the blue ledger with Clara and uncover why her name appeared beside a price in CHAPTER 9. 👇
