Chapter 2 - The Locked Side Door
Aubrey woke before sunrise.
The bedroom door was still locked.
Dylan sat on the second bed, rubbing his eyes.
“Are we going home?”
Aubrey looked at him.
“This is home now.”
Even saying it felt wrong.
At seven, the lock clicked.
Mitchell entered carrying two sets of clothes.
Jeans and a sweater for Dylan.
For Aubrey, a plain black dress with a white collar and apron.
She stared at it.
“What’s that?”
“Your clothes.”
“I have clothes.”
“Not for today.”
Dylan frowned.
“She looks like a maid.”
Mitchell’s eyes moved toward him.
Dylan immediately lowered his head.
Aubrey stepped between them.
“Why do I have to wear it?”
“Because I’m having people here.”
“What people?”
Mitchell placed the dress on the bed.
“You ask too many questions.”
Aubrey remembered Ronald saying almost the same thing.
Her stomach tightened.
Mitchell turned toward Dylan.
“You’re coming with me.”
Aubrey grabbed her brother’s wrist.
“Where?”
Mitchell looked at her hand.
“Let go.”
“No.”
His voice remained calm.
That frightened her more than shouting.
“Aubrey.”
Dylan whispered, “It’s okay.”
She released him.
Mitchell took Dylan into the hallway.
Aubrey hurried after them.
Across from her bedroom was another door.
Smaller.
Heavy.
A metal lock had been installed on the outside.
Mitchell opened it.
Inside was darkness.
Aubrey saw only part of a mattress.
“Why is Dylan going in there?”
Mitchell did not answer.
Dylan began backing away.
“Dad?”
Mitchell put a hand on his shoulder.
Aubrey rushed forward.
“No!”
Mitchell caught her arm.
Not hard enough to leave a mark.
Hard enough that she understood he could.
“You are going to get dressed.”
“Don’t put him in there!”
Mitchell bent closer.
“Then do what I tell you.”
Aubrey looked at Dylan.
His eyes were wide with panic.
“What do you want?”
Mitchell released her.
“Get dressed.”
Twenty minutes later, Aubrey stood downstairs wearing the servant-style dress.
She felt ridiculous.
Humiliated.
Afraid.
Mitchell adjusted the white collar.
“Smile.”
She did not.
He pointed toward the staircase.
“Dylan stays in that room until you remember how this works.”
Aubrey’s mouth trembled.
“What works?”
“Cooperation.”
The doorbell rang.
Mitchell’s entire expression changed.
A warm smile appeared.
He opened the front door.
Three adults entered.
Two men in expensive coats and a woman carrying a leather folder.
“Mitchell,” one man said. “Good to see you.”
“Come in.”
Mitchell gestured toward Aubrey.
“This is my daughter.”
The woman smiled.
“Aubrey, right?”
Aubrey nodded.
Mitchell placed a hand on her back.
“She’s adjusting beautifully.”
Aubrey looked at him.
He smiled harder.
“Why don’t you bring everyone coffee?”
She understood.
The dress.
The silence.
Dylan upstairs.
She carried a tray with shaking hands.
The adults talked about property.
Trust administration.
Reimbursements.
One phrase kept returning.
“Guardian-approved expenses.”
Aubrey did not understand most of it.
Then the woman said:
“The bank will require supporting documentation for anything above twenty-five thousand.”
Mitchell leaned back.
“I have documentation.”
“And the children’s expenses have to be legitimate.”
“Of course.”
Aubrey nearly dropped a cup.
One of the men looked at her.
“You okay?”
Mitchell answered before she could.
“She’s tired.”
Aubrey put the tray down.
The woman opened her leather folder.
“We should also discuss Claire Monroe’s restriction.”
Aubrey froze.
Claire.
Their mother.
Mitchell noticed.
His eyes flicked toward her.
“What restriction?”
“The supplemental clause.”
The woman turned a page.
“Any guardian found to have committed financial misconduct against Claire during her lifetime can be removed from eligibility to request discretionary trust distributions.”
Mitchell’s face did not change.
But his fingers tightened around his coffee cup.
“There was never a finding.”
“No.”
The woman agreed.
“But the trustee is asking about missing funds from Claire’s design company.”
Aubrey stared.
Her mother had owned a small but successful architectural restoration firm before she died.
Aubrey remembered arguments.
Claire yelling at Mitchell.
Mitchell saying it was “our money.”
She had been eight then.
Too young to understand.
The woman continued.
“Approximately three hundred eighty thousand dollars remains unexplained.”
Mitchell smiled.
“That issue was resolved years ago.”
“Apparently not.”
Aubrey slowly stepped backward.
Mitchell looked at her.
“Upstairs.”
She obeyed.
At the top of the staircase, she heard a tiny sound.
Tap.
Tap.
From the locked side door.
Dylan.
Aubrey hurried toward it.
“Dylan?”
Another tap.
She touched the lock.
No key.
Behind her, Mitchell’s voice came from the stairs.
“Aubrey.”
She turned.
He was no longer smiling.
The visitors had left.
His face was cold.
He walked up slowly.
“You know what you need to do.”
Aubrey said nothing.
He stopped beside her.
“Your mother kept records.”
Aubrey’s heart jumped.
“What records?”
Mitchell watched her face carefully.
“The blue notebook.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You do.”
“No.”
Mitchell leaned closer.
“Claire told you things before she died.”
Aubrey shook her head.
“I was eight.”
“She trusted you.”
“I don’t know anything!”
A faint whimper came from behind the door.
Aubrey looked toward it.
Mitchell saw the reaction.
“That door opens when you remember.”
Aubrey’s fear became anger.
“You said we were safe.”
Mitchell looked almost offended.
“You are.”
“My brother is locked in a room!”
“He is where I need him to be.”
Aubrey’s eyes filled.
Mitchell lowered his voice.
“Find the blue notebook.”
He looked toward the locked door.
“And Dylan comes out.”
Then he walked away.
Aubrey stood alone in the cold hallway.
For the first time, she understood the difference between Ronald and Mitchell.
May you like
Ronald exploded when he wanted money.
Mitchell planned.
