Sister-in-Law

The answer to what I saw wasn't going to be found on a medical database. It was upstairs, sealed behind drywall and industrial screws. But breaking down that wall would trigger a seismic event I wasn't ready to handle. Not yet. I needed an ally. Or, at the very least, a spy.

My phone buzzed. A text from Chloe.

*Coffee? The usual spot at 10? Need to vent about the Vance men.*

Chloe, Arthur's wife. She was practically a professional socialite, her life a curated feed of charity galas and tennis matches. She played the role of the sympathetic sister-in-law perfectly, but I knew her allegiance lay entirely with the Vance bank accounts.

Still, she lived with Arthur. She heard his late-night phone calls. She saw what he did when the gavel came down.

*See you there,* I texted back.

The cafe was loud, a clatter of espresso machines and privileged gossip. Chloe was already seated at a corner table, sipping a matcha latte. She wore a flawless camel coat and a sympathetic expression that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Eleanor," she sighed, reaching across the small table to squeeze my hand. "You look exhausted. Are you sleeping?"

"The renovation is taking a lot out of me," I said, sliding into the chair. "And Arthur isn't making it any easier."

"Tell me about it," Chloe rolled her eyes, leaning in closer. "He's been impossible lately. Pacing the house at all hours. Snapping at the kids. It’s like he’s waiting for a bomb to go off."

I took a slow sip of my coffee, letting the heat settle in my stomach. "Did something happen at court?"

"Who knows? He never talks about cases." Chloe stirred her latte with a tiny wooden stick. "But he's obsessed with your house right now. He had his clerk pull up a bunch of old estate documents yesterday. The original trust, some old architectural files."

My pulse hammered against my ribs, but my hands remained perfectly still on the table. He was looking at the blueprints. He was checking my work.

"That's Arthur," I said, forcing a light, dismissive laugh. "Always micromanaging. I think he's just stressed I'm going to ruin the cedar paneling in the master closet. He practically demanded I stop the remodel."

Chloe’s stirring stick went perfectly still. The subtle shift in her posture was microscopic, but I saw it. The casual, gossipy demeanor tightened.

"The master closet?" she asked, her voice dropping a fraction of a decibel. "Why is he so worried about that?"

"I don't know. I was up in the attic the other day, looking for some old ductwork to trace the framing..." I let the sentence trail off, watching her reaction.

Chloe’s eyes flicked away from mine, darting toward the cafe door before snapping back. "You were up in the attic?"

"Just poking around," I said smoothly. "Found some odd 90s junk. An old sleeping bag, some boxes."

Chloe swallowed hard. She wasn't just a spy; she knew something. She knew what was in the house.

"You should really just leave it to the contractors, El," Chloe said, recovering her sympathetic smile. "You don't want to get hurt digging around in that old dust. Arthur just worries about you."

She picked up her latte, her manicured fingers gripping the cup a little too tightly. She was already composing the text she was going to send her husband the moment she left the cafe.

Chloe smiled perfectly. 'He's so protective of that old house.'