Chapter 2 - The Phone in the GrassNoah couldn't reach the phone.
It lay less than four feet away.
It might as well have been across the state.
He twisted against the rope, trying to slide one arm lower.
Nothing.
The knot had been tied behind the trunk.
Victoria had planned this carefully.
Too carefully.
The phone vibrated again.
Noah looked toward the hedge.
No Victoria.
No Emily.
Only distant screaming from somewhere closer to the mansion.
He tried to stretch one sneaker toward the phone.
His toe missed it by inches.
“Come on.”
He pushed harder.
The rope tightened across his chest.
Pain flashed through his shoulders.
He stopped.
Think.
His father always told him that when something went wrong.
Don't panic.
Think.
Noah looked at the ground.
Stones.
Branches.
A garden tool left near a flower bed.
Too far.
The smartphone remained just beyond his foot.
Then he saw a long fallen twig beside the tree.
He hooked it with his shoe.
Dragged it closer.
The first attempt failed.
Second.
Third.
Finally, Noah caught the phone with the end of the branch.
He pulled.
Slowly.
The phone slid across the grass.
A bee landed near it.
Noah froze.
The bee lifted again.
Noah continued.
The phone reached his shoe.
Now what?
He couldn't use his hands.
He kicked off one sneaker.
Then one sock.
With ridiculous concentration, Noah trapped the phone between his bare toes.
“If I survive this,” he muttered, “I'm never making fun of people who do weird things with their feet again.”
He tapped the screen.
Locked.
Face ID.
Victoria's face was nowhere nearby.
Noah cursed.
But the messages were still visible in notifications.
Martin had sent more.
You said Robert leaves the club at 4:30.
You need the story ready before he gets home.
Robert.
Noah's father.
Robert Whitmore was forty-three, CEO of a national real-estate development company and owner of the mansion Noah had grown up in.
Victoria had married him three years ago.
At first Noah had actually liked her.
She was charming.
Funny.
Patient.
She remembered birthdays.
She laughed at his father's terrible jokes.
Then things changed.
Small things first.
Victoria started telling Robert that Noah was becoming disrespectful.
Then dishonest.
Then troubled.
Every argument happened when Robert wasn't home.
Every version Robert heard came from Victoria first.
Noah had tried to explain.
His father listened.
But he always ended with the same sentence.
“Victoria loves you too.”
Noah hated that sentence.
The phone vibrated again.
MARTIN: The trust transfers the shares when he's sixteen. We cannot wait.
Noah stared.
Trust?
Shares?
He knew his mother had left him money.
Rachel Whitmore died when Noah was seven.
Cancer.
She had created a trust, but Robert rarely discussed it.
Noah had always assumed it was for college.
Apparently Victoria knew more.
He heard footsteps.
Noah looked up.
Emily came through the hedge.
Her hair was disheveled.
One sleeve was torn.
She was crying and breathing hard.
“Noah.”
He stared at her.
She hurried toward him.
“Don't move.”
“Wasn't planning on it.”
Emily dropped to her knees behind the tree and attacked the knot.
Her fingers shook.
“I'm sorry.”
“Where's Victoria?”
“She ran toward the pool house.”
“You came back.”
Emily stopped working for a second.
“I should never have left you.”
“You shouldn't have tied me here.”
Her face crumpled.
“I know.”
“Why did you help her?”
“I didn't know she was going to…”
Emily couldn't finish.
Noah looked at her.
“You threw the stone.”
“She said she'd call immigration.”
Noah frowned.
“You're American.”
“My husband isn't.”
Now he understood.
Emily's husband, Luis, worked construction.
They had a six-year-old daughter.
Victoria had threatened her family.
Emily loosened the final knot.
Noah stepped away from the tree.
His legs nearly gave out.
Emily caught him.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
Fair answer.
Noah grabbed Victoria's phone.
“Look.”
He showed Emily the notifications.
Her face went white.
“Martin.”
“You know him?”
Emily nodded.
“Martin Hale.”
“Who is he?”
“Your father's attorney.”
Noah stared.
Martin Hale had been in their house dozens of times.
Gray-haired.
Soft-spoken.
Always carrying a leather briefcase.
He handled Robert's business contracts.
The family trust.
Everything.
“He wants me dead?”
Emily looked terrified.
“I don't know.”
Noah scrolled as much as the lock screen allowed.
Another message appeared.
MARTIN: Once Noah is gone, Victoria becomes Robert's only beneficiary.
Emily covered her mouth.
Noah felt something inside him go cold.
This was not about a cruel stepmother losing control.
It was money.
Maybe millions.
Maybe hundreds of millions.
Then the screen went dark.
Someone had remotely locked the phone.
A message appeared.
DEVICE DISABLED.
Noah looked toward Emily.
“Martin knows she lost it.”
Emily whispered,
“We need your father.”
Noah nodded.
Then a voice came from behind them.
“No.”
They turned.
Victoria stood near the hedge.
Her face was swollen in several places from bee stings.
Her perfect hair had fallen loose.
And in her hand—
May you like
she held a small pistol.
“Neither of you is going anywhere.”
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