Chapter 6 - The Person Watching Us
By sunrise, we had three cameras installed around the house.
Daniel did it himself.
He didn't tell me what he was thinking.
I didn't ask.
Our lives had moved from an ugly family argument to something I barely recognized.
I sat in the nursery, staring at the crib we had assembled two weeks earlier.
The room should have felt peaceful.
Instead, every window looked like an invitation to someone who shouldn't be there.
Natalie stood in the doorway.
“I'm scared.”
“So am I.”
She came inside.
“I never thought Mom would do this.”
“Neither did I.”
“What happens now?”
“I don't know.”
She looked at my stomach.
Then at the empty shelf where the baby monitor would sit.
“I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
“For being the person she always used against you.”
That hurt more than I expected.
“You didn't choose that.”
“But I benefited from it.”
I sat beside her.
“Mom made us compete.”
“She did.”
“And I let her.”
Natalie looked at me.
“So did I.”
We were quiet.
Then Daniel called from downstairs.
“Claire!”
I jumped up.
He was standing in the kitchen, staring at his laptop.
“What?”
“Look.”
The exterior camera had captured a man in a dark jacket walking down the side of our property at 2:14 a.m.
He stopped near the nursery window.
Then he crouched.
I felt sick.
“Can we see his face?”
“No.”
The camera angle caught only the side of his head.
But his clothing looked familiar.
Dark jacket.
Baseball cap.
Just like the man in Dad's photograph.
I stared at the screen.
“That's him.”
Daniel looked at me.
“You're sure?”
“No.”
But I knew.
Or thought I did.
We called the police.
Officer Ramirez arrived with another officer.
They reviewed the footage.
“Do you recognize him?” Ramirez asked.
I showed him Dad's photograph.
He studied both images.
“Could be the same person.”
“Who is he?”
“We don't know yet.”
“Can you trace him?”
“Not from this.”
Daniel asked, “What should we do?”
“Keep doors locked. Don't confront anyone. Save all footage.”
I looked at him.
“Someone has been watching our house.”
“Yes.”
“And you think it's connected to my mother?”
He paused.
“I think you have a lot of connected-looking facts and not enough proof.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Facts weren't proof.
Suspicion wasn't certainty.
My mother had manipulated us.
Someone had forged documents.
Someone had accessed Natalie's identification.
Someone had watched our house.
But those facts did not automatically point to the same person.
Then Natalie received a call.
Her face changed.
“It's Mom.”
She answered on speaker.
My mother's voice was trembling.
“I'm at the bank.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because someone emptied the account.”
“What account?”
“The one you were asking about.”
“The investment account in my name?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Thirty-one thousand.”
Natalie looked at me.
“When?”
Mom answered.
“Yesterday.”
Daniel's face hardened.
“Then someone knew you were looking into it.”
Mom said, “I didn't take it.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because I called you.”
“Why now?”
“Because the person who withdrew it left something behind.”
“What?”
“A note.”
I heard paper moving.
“What does it say?”
Mom's voice dropped.
“It says: You should have listened to Arthur.”
The line went silent.
I felt a chill.
Dad's name.
Again.
But then Mom said something unexpected.
“They know about the box.”
“What box?”
“The second box.”
I looked at Daniel.
“What second box?”
Mom hung up.
We drove to her house.
She wasn't there.
The front door was unlocked.
The house looked disturbed.
Drawers open.
Cabinet doors hanging wide.
Photographs scattered across the floor.
Someone had searched it.
Natalie froze.
“Mom.”
Daniel called her name.
No answer.
I noticed mud near the back door.
Fresh mud.
And a torn piece of cardboard beside the basement stairs.
Daniel picked it up.
There was handwriting on it.
Not Mom's.
Not Dad's.
Three words:
GIVE HER THE DEED.
I stared.
“The deed to what?”
Daniel looked toward the basement.
We followed the mud trail downstairs.
At the bottom, a wooden cabinet door stood open.
Behind it was an old metal safe.
The safe was unlocked.
Inside was an envelope.
My name was written across it.
Claire.
I opened it.
There was a single photograph.
Dad.
Standing outside his office.
Beside him was Gerald Pike.
And beside Gerald was my mother.
All three were smiling.
On the back of the photograph was a date.
Four days before Dad died.
I turned it over again.
There was another line written beneath the date.
CLAIRE DOESN'T KNOW WHY HE REALLY DIED.
Natalie whispered, “What does that mean?”
I couldn't answer.
May you like
Because in the photograph, Dad was wearing the watch we buried him with.
And behind him stood the same man from our security footage.
