Chapter 39: The Hidden Camera

Sarah.

The name stared up at me, a tiny label on a shattered piece of technology. This was it. The proof.

My hands shook as I turned the phone over. The screen was cracked, a spiderweb of fractures, but the home button was intact. I pressed it.

Nothing.

It was dead, drained of power just like the tablet.

I looked around the room, frantic. Mark and Chloe were downstairs. I could hear the murmur of their voices, the low hum of conspiracy. I had minutes. Maybe less.

I needed a charger.

I yanked open the nightstand drawer. My chargers were gone. Confiscated.

I scanned the room. The karaoke machine. I had used its cord. I dragged it out of the closet. The plug was standard, AC. Useless for a phone.

Wait. The baby monitor.

I grabbed the base unit from the dresser. It had a USB port on the side for firmware updates. A small, white cable dangled from it.

I plugged the phone in.

The screen remained black.

"Come on," I whispered. "Come on, Sarah. Talk to me."

I held the power button down. One second. Five. Ten.

A vibration.

The Apple logo appeared, faint and ghostly against the cracked glass.

I sank to the floor, my back against the bed frame, hiding the phone between my knees.

The lock screen lit up. A photo of a woman. Blonde, laughing, holding a positive pregnancy test. She looked like me. But happier. Younger.

*Enter Passcode.*

Four digits.

I tried 1234. Incorrect.
0000. Incorrect.
Mark's birthday. Incorrect.

The phone vibrated. *iPhone is disabled for 1 minute.*

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to think. To think like Sarah.

The receipt in the book. *Order #3021.* The date was June 14th.

Was that her due date? Her anniversary?

I waited for the timer to tick down. 30 seconds. 20. 10.

*Enter Passcode.*

I typed 0614.

The screen unlocked.

I didn't go to the photos. I didn't go to the texts. I went to the voice memos.

There was only one recording. Dated four years ago. The day she died.

I pressed play, holding the phone to my ear, volume low.

"He's acting strange," Sarah's voice whispered. She sounded scared. Breathless. "Mark. He keeps talking about the trust fund. About how we need to secure the future. And Elena... she's always here. Watching me. Touching my stomach like it's hers."

A pause. A rustling sound.

"I found the papers, Mark. In your desk. The adoption papers. But they aren't for adoption. They're for... transfer of custody. Upon death."

She was crying now.

"I'm scared. I think they're poisoning me. The tea tastes bitter. I hid the phone. If you find this... if you find this, run. Don't trust him. Don't trust the sister."

The recording ended.

I lowered the phone. My blood ran cold. *Transfer of custody upon death.*

They hadn't just killed her. They had planned it. They had drafted the legal framework for murder.

And they were doing the exact same thing to me.

The doorknob turned.

I shoved the phone into my bra, the cold glass pressing against my skin. I grabbed the pillow, fluffing it, pretending to be busy.

The door opened.

Chloe stood there. She was holding a tray. A glass of water. A single yellow pill.

"Room service," she said, her smile tight.

She walked in, closing the door behind her. She set the tray on the nightstand.

"Mark is... indisposed," she said. "Dealing with the mess downstairs. So I thought I'd make sure you were comfortable."

She picked up the pill.

"Open up, Elara."

I looked at the pill. Then I looked at the smoke detector on the ceiling. The one I had tried to burn.

The plastic casing was melted, revealing the circuitry underneath.

And in the center of the charred plastic, something glinted.

A lens.

Not a smoke sensor. A camera lens.

I looked at Chloe. She followed my gaze.

She smiled.

"We like to keep an eye on things," she said.

I looked back at the camera. I raised my hand. And I waved.

From downstairs, the sound of breaking glass shattered the silence.

Chloe frowned. "What was that?"

"Maybe it's the cat," I said, my voice steady. "Bringing something in."

Or maybe it was someone breaking out.