Chapter 2 - Behind the Locked DoorThe gate opened.
Cameron drove through but did not speed toward the house.
Every instinct told him to storm inside.
Every lesson he had learned from lawyers, boardrooms, and his father told him not to.
Geraldine had already prepared legal documents.
That meant she had a plan.
Cameron called 911 before leaving the SUV.
“My eight-year-old daughter is inside my home with my mother,” he said. “I have video showing my mother physically mistreating her. I am outside the property now.”
The dispatcher told him officers were being sent.
“Is the child in immediate danger?”
“I don’t know.”
That answer nearly broke him.
Cameron entered through the side door.
The house was strangely quiet.
“Savannah?”
No answer.
He crossed the foyer.
Then Luz appeared near the kitchen.
Her face was pale.
“She stopped the treadmill,” Luz whispered.
“Where are they?”
“Upstairs.”
“Why?”
Luz swallowed.
“Mrs. Vale saw a car come through the gate.”
Cameron looked toward the staircase.
“She knows I’m here?”
“I think so.”
He climbed.
At Savannah’s bedroom door, he found Geraldine.
She stood outside it with both hands folded calmly.
“Cameron.”
“Move.”
Geraldine tilted her head.
“You look upset.”
“I said move.”
The smile disappeared.
“You should lower your voice. Savannah is already hysterical.”
Cameron stared at his mother.
“You put her on a treadmill.”
“She was having another tantrum.”
“Move.”
Geraldine stepped aside.
Cameron opened the door.
Savannah sat on the floor beside her bed with her knees pulled against her chest.
The moment she saw him, her face collapsed.
“Dad.”
Cameron crossed the room and dropped to his knees.
She threw herself into his arms.
He held her tightly.
“I’m here.”
“I’m sorry.”
The words cut through him.
He leaned back.
“For what?”
Savannah looked toward the door.
Geraldine was still there.
“For being bad.”
Cameron followed her gaze.
Geraldine’s expression did not change.
“Mom,” he said quietly. “Go downstairs.”
“This is my family too.”
“Downstairs.”
Something in his voice convinced her.
Geraldine walked away.
Cameron turned back to Savannah.
“You did nothing that deserved what happened.”
Savannah started crying again.
“She said I had to learn.”
“Learn what?”
The child hesitated.
Then glanced at the doorway.
Cameron shut it.
Savannah whispered, “Not to snoop.”
His heartbeat changed.
“What did you see?”
“I wasn’t snooping.”
“I believe you.”
“I was looking for colored paper for school. Grandma told me there was some in Grandpa’s old office.”
Cameron’s father, Henry Vale, had been dead for five years.
Geraldine rarely allowed anyone into his study.
“What happened?”
“There was a red folder on the desk.”
“What was in it?”
“I don’t know.”
Savannah rubbed her eyes.
“I saw my name.”
Cameron became very still.
“Your name?”
“And yours.”
“What else?”
“There were numbers.”
“What kind of numbers?”
“Big ones.”
Savannah looked frightened again.
“And Grandma came in.”
“What did she say?”
“She asked what I read.”
“And you told her?”
“I said nothing.”
Savannah’s lower lip trembled.
“She called me a liar.”
Cameron felt the room narrow around him.
The treadmill had not been random punishment.
It had happened because Savannah had seen something.
Downstairs, the doorbell rang.
Police.
Cameron kissed Savannah’s forehead.
“You’re staying with me.”
“Is Grandma angry?”
“That is not something you need to worry about.”
He stood.
Savannah grabbed his sleeve.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Grandma said something yesterday.”
“What?”
“She was talking on the phone.”
Cameron waited.
“She said, ‘Friday is too late. Once Cameron sees the audit, everything is over.’”
He stared at his daughter.
Friday.
Tomorrow.
Cameron’s company had commissioned a routine review of several family trusts and legacy investment entities.
He had barely thought about it.
His finance director had asked for the audit after finding inconsistencies in historical records.
Cameron suddenly remembered Geraldine asking him twice whether the review could be postponed.
At the time, he had assumed she was irritated by paperwork.
Now he understood something else.
Geraldine was afraid.
Cameron opened the bedroom door.
Two officers were already coming upstairs.
Behind them stood Geraldine.
Perfectly composed.
“Officers,” she said, “I’m afraid my son is having another one of his episodes.”
Cameron stopped.
“Another?”
Geraldine looked directly at him.
Then she spoke words she had apparently been preparing for a very long time.
“Cameron has a history of violent instability.”
One officer looked from mother to son.
May you like
Cameron realized the guardianship petition was not the beginning of Geraldine’s plan.
It was the final step.
Related Stories
