Chapter 20 - The Voice in the Static
Three days later, the rain had finally stopped, replaced by a cold, immaculate autumn sky.
State Police crime scene tape flapped yellow and sharp along the perimeter of the Montauk cottage.
Victoria Sterling was back in federal custody, held in a maximum-security medical ward under twenty-four-hour suicide watch.
Arthur Sterling’s body had not been recovered from the treacherous rip currents of the south spit.
The Coast Guard had officially suspended the search at dawn.
Maya stood inside the bedroom, packing the last of her clothes into a battered canvas duffel bag.
The local real estate agent had already listed the cottage; neither Maya nor Julian could bear to sleep another night under that roof.
Julian was outside loading boxes into the back of a rented SUV.
His right hand was heavily bandaged from the recoil and the fight, but his face looked lighter, as though a boulder had been lifted from his chest.
Maya picked up her jewelry box from the nightstand, checking the small drawers to ensure nothing was left behind.
In the bottom velvet compartment lay the gold fountain pen Vance had left in the van.
The police had returned it after processing it for fingerprints.
Maya turned the heavy emerald-studded pen over in her hand, feeling an inexplicable unease creep up her spine.
Something didn't fit.
Arthur had claimed that Clara died five years ago in a private clinic in Zurich.
If Clara had died five years ago, why had the Zurich account in Maya’s name been accessed from an IP address in Manhattan just yesterday afternoon?
Maya sat down on the edge of the unmade bed, pulling out her laptop from her bag.
She booted up the secure banking portal Julian had shown her before the police arrived.
She entered the twenty-four-character alphanumeric key.
The screen flashed green: *ACCESS GRANTED.*
Maya looked at the account balance.
The seventy-five million dollars was still there, sitting untouched in the Swiss vault.
Then she clicked on the transaction history tab.
A single transfer had been initiated at 2:14 PM yesterday.
Ten thousand dollars had been transferred to a floral boutique located three blocks from Central Park.
The recipient note read: *White lilies for the wedding that never ends.*
Maya felt the air leave her lungs in a cold, ragged gasp.
At that exact moment, the landline telephone on the bedside table began to ring.
The cottage phone line had been cut by Vance during the attack, but the utility company had repaired the pole yesterday.
The shrill, mechanical ring shattered the quiet room.
*Ring.*
*Ring.*
Maya stared at the plastic receiver, her hand trembling as she reached across the sheets.
She picked it up and brought it to her ear, but didn't say a word.
For three seconds, there was only the faint, rhythmic hiss of ocean static on the line.
Then came a soft, raspy, feminine voice that made Maya’s heart freeze solid in her chest.
"Maya?" the voice whispered, trembling with fragile, terrifying amusement.
"Who is this?" Maya choked out, gripping the receiver until her knuckles turned white.
"Did my brother tell you I was dead?" the girl asked softly, followed by a faint, breathy laugh.
Maya’s throat locked. "Clara?"
"Tell Julian that father didn't drown alone twenty years ago," the voice whispered into the receiver.
"And tell him to check the cellar under the boat house before you drive away."
The line went dead with a sharp, hollow click.
Outside in the driveway, the horn of the SUV tapped twice.
Julian called out through the open window, his voice sounding warm, loving, and completely normal:
"Maya! Everything's packed! Ready to go?"
Maya stood up, dropping the phone onto the bed, staring out the window at Julian standing beside the car.
He smiled and waved at her.
May you like
Behind him, through the trees, the padlocked iron doors of the old boat house sat buried in the hillside.
A thin wisp of gray smoke was beginning to rise from the rusted cellar vent.
