Chapter 7: The Girl Who Held My Mother Hostage
For three seconds, I couldn't hear anything except the blood pounding in my ears.
Brielle Whitmore stood behind my mother in the photograph, one hand resting on her shoulder, her perfect school uniform untouched by the chaos around her.
She was smiling.
My mother wasn't.
Elena Cole looked thinner than I remembered from the photographs. Her dark hair had streaks of gray, and deep shadows hollowed the skin beneath her eyes. But there was no mistaking her face.
The small beauty mark beneath her left cheekbone.
The familiar crease between her eyebrows.
The eyes I had inherited.
My mother was alive.
And Brielle was holding her hostage.
"Give me the phone," Richard said.
I pulled it against my chest.
"No.""
"Amara, please. We need to show Detective Mitchell.""
"She'll send the police, and Brielle might hurt her.""
Richard's jaw tightened.
"We can't let that girl dictate what happens next.""
"She's already dictating everything!""
My voice cracked through the interview room.
Detective Mitchell stopped speaking into her radio.
I held up the photograph.
"Look at her. That's my mother. She's been missing for seventeen years, and now someone has her tied to a chair. I am not sitting here while we argue about procedure.""
Mitchell approached slowly.
"I understand how frightened you are.""
"No, you don't.""
"You're right," she admitted.
"I don't know what it's like to discover your mother might be alive after eighteen years. But I do know what happens when frightened people walk into dangerous situations without a plan.""
She glanced at the photograph.
"That's why we're going to make a plan.""
For the next twenty minutes, she examined the image, studied the background, and questioned me about the messages. Marcus enlarged the photograph on his laptop.
There was a dark wooden staircase behind Brielle. A brass wall lamp hung beside it, and a cracked mirror reflected part of a doorway.
Richard stared at the image.
"I know that room.""
"Where?"" I asked.
"The old Bennett estate. My father used it as a private office before he moved his operations downtown.""
"Why would Brielle take my mother there?""
Richard's face hardened.
"Because her father knows that property. Daniel Whitmore worked there for years.""
Detective Mitchell placed a finger on the photograph.
"Can you identify the room?""
Richard nodded.
"The west wing. There's an entrance from the garden and another through the basement. If someone wanted to bring a person inside without being seen from the main road, they'd use the basement.""
Mitchell immediately called for a tactical team.
Then she turned toward me.
"Amara, I need you to stay here.""
I shook my head.
"Absolutely not.""
"Your mother is being held by someone who has already demonstrated a willingness to threaten you. We don't know whether Brielle is working alone.""
"That's exactly why I need to go.""
"You can help us from here.""
"How? By staring at a wall while you search a building that my mother might not survive?""
Richard stepped beside me.
"Detective, she's right about one thing. Elena may respond to Amara's voice. If we rush in without considering that, we could make things worse.""
Mitchell looked between us.
Finally, she nodded.
"Fine. You can come as far as the perimeter. You will not enter the estate unless I authorize it. Do you understand?""
I agreed.
I didn't intend to obey that last part.
The old Bennett estate stood on the outskirts of town, surrounded by iron fencing and trees that had grown wild over the years. My grandfather had purchased the property decades earlier, back when the Bennett family still believed wealth meant owning more land than anyone could see from the road.
Now the mansion looked abandoned.
Several windows were boarded up. Ivy crawled across the stone walls. The circular driveway was cracked, and dead leaves skittered across the pavement in the cold evening wind.
But lights burned in the west wing.
Someone was inside.
We stopped behind an unmarked police vehicle several hundred yards from the gate.
Marcus handed Richard a pair of binoculars.
"There are at least two vehicles near the rear entrance," he said.
"One matches the description of Daniel Whitmore's car.""
Richard scanned the property.
Then he went rigid.
"What?"" I whispered.
He lowered the binoculars.
"There's another car.""
"Whose?""
He stared at the mansion.
"My father's old Mercedes.""
I turned toward him.
"Arthur Bennett is dead.""
"I know.""
He sounded as if he were struggling to breathe.
"But that car was in storage after his funeral. I saw it myself.""
Detective Mitchell approached, listening to an officer's report through her earpiece.
"The tactical team is taking positions," she said.
"We have no visual confirmation of the hostage yet.""
I looked toward the illuminated windows.
"Please," I whispered.
"Please let her be alive.""
Then a door opened near the garden.
A figure emerged.
Brielle.
She wore a black coat over her school uniform and carried a small silver handbag. She looked around the garden, checking the driveway before pulling a phone from her pocket.
Even from a distance, I recognized the impatient way she tapped her foot.
She was the same girl who had grabbed my dress in front of the entire school.
The same girl who had laughed while everyone else watched.
Only now, I understood that the cruelty I'd seen in the auditorium might have been the smallest part of what she was capable of.
My phone vibrated.
A new message appeared.
*I know you're outside, Amara. Come in alone, or I'll make sure you never hear your mother's voice again.*
I showed it to Mitchell.
She read it, then looked toward the garden.
"She's trying to separate you from the team.""
"I know.""
"Which means we're going to do the opposite.""
She gave a signal to the officers.
They began moving toward the house through the trees.
I stayed behind the vehicle, shaking so badly that I could barely hold my phone.
Then another message arrived.
This one contained an audio recording.
I pressed play.
My mother's voice filled the car.
"Amara, if you're hearing this, don't trust Richard. He knows what happened to me. He knows why I couldn't come home.""
A chair scraped against the floor.
Then Brielle's voice cut in.
"Tell her the truth, Elena.""
My mother's breathing became uneven.
"Your father didn't leave me at the bridge because he was afraid. He left me because he made a choice.""
The recording ended.
I turned toward Richard.
His face had gone white.
"What did she mean?""
He didn't answer.
"Richard!""
He looked at me, and for the first time since we'd met, I saw something in his eyes that frightened me more than the messages, the fire, or Brielle's threats.
Guilt.
"I was unconscious when they took Elena away," he said.
"But before I lost consciousness, I heard her tell me something.""
"What?""
He swallowed.
"She said she had proof my father had ordered the crash. She begged me to take it and get you somewhere safe.""
"Did you?""
"No.""
"Why not?""
"Because I was struck before I could reach her.""
I stared at him.
"Then what choice did you make?""
He closed his eyes.
"When I woke up in the hospital, my father told me that if I continued searching, he would make sure no one ever found you. He said he knew where you were.""
My stomach dropped.
"He knew I existed?""
Richard nodded.
"He said that if I wanted you to live, I had to stop asking questions.""
I stepped away from him.
"You let him threaten a seven-year-old girl?""
"I thought he was bluffing. But he showed me a photograph of you outside your school.""
My hand flew to my mouth.
"He was watching me?""
"I don't know how long he'd been watching you. I only know that I believed him when he said you were in danger.""
"And you never told me?""
"I couldn't find you.""
"You didn't try hard enough!""
Richard didn't defend himself.
He simply stood there, accepting the accusation.
A burst of shouting came from the mansion.
The police had entered the west wing.
Mitchell ran toward the gate.
"Stay here!"" she ordered.
But I was already moving.
I slipped through a gap in the fence and followed the officers toward the side entrance. My heart hammered against my ribs. Branches scratched my arms, and loose stones slid beneath my shoes.
Through an open window, I heard Brielle shouting.
"You're too late!""
A crash followed.
Then my mother's voice.
"Amara, run!""
I reached the side door just as an officer pushed it open.
Inside, the hallway smelled of dust and damp wood. Flashlights cut through the darkness. Somewhere upstairs, a door slammed.
"Police!"" a voice shouted.
"Put your hands where we can see them!""
I ran toward the staircase.
At the landing, I found Brielle standing beside an open doorway.
Her eyes widened when she saw me.
"You weren't supposed to come.""
"Where is my mother?""
She lifted her chin.
"You should have listened to me.""
"Where is she?""
Brielle stepped backward into the room.
I followed.
My mother sat in a chair near the window, her wrists tied with plastic restraints. A red mark crossed one cheek. Her eyes widened when she saw me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered my name.
"Amara.""
I rushed toward her.
Brielle grabbed my arm.
"Don't touch her!""
I spun around.
"Get your hands off me!""
She tightened her grip.
"You have no idea what you've done. My father built everything. Your mother was supposed to disappear, and you were supposed to stay a nobody.""
I stared at her.
"Why? What did I ever do to you?""
Her expression twisted.
"Because my father said your existence was a threat to everything we had.""
She pulled a folded document from her handbag.
"Your mother stole something seventeen years ago. Something that belongs to my family.""
"What?""
Brielle thrust the document toward me.
It was an old medical record bearing my mother's name.
Beneath it was a second page with a handwritten statement.
My eyes moved across the lines.
Then I looked at Richard, who had appeared in the doorway behind the officers.
The statement claimed that Elena Cole had been declared legally incompetent after the accident and had voluntarily surrendered all parental rights.
But the signature at the bottom was dated three days before the crash.
My mother had never signed it.
Someone had forged her name.
I turned toward Brielle.
"Who did this?""
She smiled bitterly.
"My grandfather.""
Before I could respond, a gunshot echoed from downstairs.
The room shook with the sound.
An officer shouted for everyone to get down.
Brielle dropped the document.
My mother screamed.
And from the hallway, a man's voice rang out.
"Richard! Step away from the girl if you want them both to survive!""
Richard froze.
I turned toward the doorway.
A tall figure stood at the far end of the hall, holding a gun.
He wore a dark suit and leaned slightly to one side.
A silver watch glinted on his wrist.
Marcus had been right about the limp.
May you like
Thomas Hale, my grandfather's former driver, had returned.
And he was pointing the gun directly at my mother.
