Chapter 11 - The Woman in Vermont
The caller gave Claire an address in rural Vermont and hung up.
Ethan insisted on going with her.
“This is either a lead or a trap.”
“Those are becoming our two main hobbies.”
They drove north under a sky the color of steel.
The address belonged to an assisted-living cottage hidden behind a private rehabilitation center.
A nurse met them at the door.
“You’re Claire.”
It was not a question.
“Who called me?”
“I did. My name is Miriam Cole. I cared for your mother for eleven years.”
Claire stopped breathing.
Miriam led them into a sunroom.
A thin woman sat beside the window, silver threaded through her dark hair. Her left hand rested stiffly in her lap. A scar crossed her temple.
Claire knew her face.
Older. Worn. But the same eyes from the newspaper clipping.
“Amelia?”
The woman looked up.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then she whispered, “Lydia?”
Claire’s heart broke cleanly in two.
“No. I’m Claire.”
Amelia stared.
Her mouth trembled.
“My baby?”
Claire crossed the room and dropped to her knees.
Amelia touched her face with shaking fingers.
“You lived.”
They both cried without dignity.
Later, Miriam explained that Amelia had survived a staged car crash but suffered a traumatic brain injury. Grant Holloway arranged private care under a false name. Victor paid the bills through shell companies.
“Why keep her alive?” Ethan asked.
Miriam looked toward the sunroom. “Because killing her would have triggered a trust clause. As long as she remained alive but legally missing, Victor controlled the company.”
Claire felt sick.
Amelia remembered fragments. A bridge. Grant shouting. Victor taking a folder. Blood.
Then Claire showed her the photograph from locker 317.
Amelia’s entire body tightened.
“Grant.”
“What did he do?” Claire asked.
Amelia looked directly at her daughter.
“He drove.”
Before Claire could ask more, a car exploded in the parking lot.
Ethan pulled Claire to the floor.
Smoke covered the windows.
His security team shouted outside.
Miriam ran into the hall.
Then Amelia grabbed Claire’s wrist with surprising strength.
“Not Victor,” she whispered.
Claire leaned closer.
“What?”
Amelia’s eyes filled with terror.
“Victor didn’t order the crash.”
May you like
She pointed toward the burning parking lot.
“Grant did.”
