Chapter 10 - The Trapdoor

Grace ran before Vincent could stop her. The theater's old orchestra lift groaned downward, pulling Nora toward a basement packed with exposed machinery. Vanessa watched from the stage edge, her finger resting on the remote.

“One more step,” she said, “and I let her drop.”

Grace stopped. “You don't want Nora. You want me.”

“Finally, a smart observation.”

Vincent moved along the aisle in the dark while Grace kept Vanessa talking. “Why put money on my death?”

“Because dead girls don't remember what they saw.”

“Then you should've checked whether I remembered anything.”

Vanessa's eyes flashed. “Your mother tried to ruin my family. Your father took something that belonged to us.”

“Children didn't belong to anyone.”

Vanessa's expression hardened. “You really are Clara's daughter.”

Grace stepped onto the stage. “Let Nora go. You can have me.”

“No,” Nora cried. “Don't you dare.”

Grace looked at the overhead ropes. She knew this theater's fly system from an old touring map. One counterweight line hung close enough to reach if she jumped. She kicked off a stage box, caught the rope, and swung over the widening gap.

Vanessa shrieked and pressed the button. The lift dropped another three feet. Grace slammed into Nora's chair, wrapped an arm around its frame, and threw her weight toward a side platform. The chair scraped over the edge just as the lift fell away.

Vincent reached them and cut Nora free. Grace's shoulder burned, but Nora was alive.

Vanessa backed toward an exit. “You should've taken the money.”

“Where's my mother?” Grace shouted.

Vanessa laughed once. “Ask Vincent who signed the order to move her.”

She slipped through a door, locking it behind her. Marco's men broke it open seconds later, but the alley beyond was empty. A small black envelope lay on the steps.

Inside was a transfer order dated eleven years ago. At the bottom, beside the words SUBJECT: CLARA VALE, was a signature: VINCENT S. MORETTI.

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Grace looked from the paper to Vincent. “You said you didn't know her.”

He stared at the signature, then at her. “Grace, I was twenty-five. And I swear to you, I never signed this.”