The Burner Phone

The taillights of the Range Rover disappeared into the woods. The red dot on Claire's phone screen moved steadily away from the estate, heading south toward the highway.

Toward the bridge.

Claire ripped the earbud out. She didn't need to hear anymore. She knew the destination.

She sprinted to Aris's car, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the ignition. The engine roared to life. She reversed out of her hiding spot, tires spinning on the wet grass, and tore down the driveway.

She had to intercept him.

But as she reached the main road, she hesitated.

If she went after David, Arthur would know. He was tracking the car. He was listening. If she intervened, he might trigger whatever "accident" he had planned remotely. A brake failure. A steering lock. Modern cars were just computers on wheels, and Arthur had the passwords.

She needed to cut the cord.

She needed another phone.

She drove toward the town center, her mind racing. The burner phone she was using was clean, but it was limited. She needed something disposable, something she could use to reach David without Arthur intercepting the call.

She pulled into the parking lot of a 24-hour convenience store. The neon sign buzzed overhead, a beacon in the rain.

She ran inside. The clerk, a teenager with headphones around his neck, didn't look up.

"I need a prepaid phone," Claire said, slapping a fifty-dollar bill on the counter. "And a SIM card. Now."

The kid blinked. "ID?"

"Keep the change," Claire said.

He shrugged and handed her a blister pack.

Claire ripped it open right there on the counter. She jammed the SIM card in, waiting agonizing seconds for the bars to appear.

She dialed David’s number.

It went straight to voicemail.

*This is David Vance. Leave a message.*

Arthur had blocked her number. Or David had turned his phone off.

She tried again. Voicemail.

She needed another way in.

She looked at the tracking app on Aris’s phone. The red dot was moving faster now. Sixty miles per hour. Seventy.

He wasn't driving to clear his head. He was driving to escape.

She got back in the car. She followed the dot on the screen, matching his speed.

But she couldn't just follow him. She needed information. She needed leverage.

She thought of the ledger she had seen in the safe deposit box. The list of payments.

She dialed Aris.

"Claire?" his voice was tight. "Where are you? I saw the tracker moving."

"I'm following him," Claire said. "But I need you to check something. The files you stole from your father. The financial records."

"I'm looking at them right now."

"Search for a payee," Claire said. "Lena Kovac."

Silence. Then the sound of keyboard keys clacking.

"I have a Lena Kovac," Aris said. "Payroll. She was listed as a 'consultant' in 1992."

"When was the last payment?"

"November 1992," Aris said. "A lump sum. Fifty thousand dollars."

"And the account?"

"Closed," Aris said. "The day after the transfer."

"Keep looking," Claire said. "Look for recurring payments. Small amounts. To a different name."

"Who?"

"Her sister," Claire said. "In Ohio. I don't know her name. But the payments would have started in 1993."

More typing.

"I see a monthly transfer," Aris said. "Five hundred dollars. To a 'M. Kovac' in Columbus. It started in January 1993."

"Is it still active?"

"Yes," Aris said. "The last transfer was... yesterday."

Claire gripped the steering wheel.

"Arthur didn't just pay her off," she said. "He's still paying her. He's paying her to stay quiet about Lena."

"Or," Aris said, his voice dropping, "he's paying her to stay quiet about the baby."

"What baby?"

"The one that died," Aris said. "If Lena's baby died in July 1993... and David was brought home in March 1993... there's an overlap."

"I know," Claire said. "The timelines don't match."

"Unless," Aris said, "there were two babies."

The line crackled.

"Claire," Aris said. "I found something else. In the ledger. A payment from December 1992. To a private investigator. A man named Silas."

"Who is he?"

"I don't know," Aris said. "But the memo line says 'Reacquisition'."

Reacquisition.

You don't reacquire something you bought. You reacquire something you lost.

Or something that was stolen from you.

"Arthur didn't buy David," Claire whispered. "He took him back."

The red dot on the screen stopped moving.

It wasn't at the bridge. It was at the old marina. The one Arthur had closed years ago.

"He's stopped," Claire said. "I have to go."

"Claire, wait—"

She hung up.

She stared at the screen. The dot was stationary. And right next to it, another signal appeared. A faint, pulsing blue light.

It wasn't a car. It was a boat.

And the transponder ID wasn't Vance.

It was *Kovac*.