Chapter 3 - The Broken Sister
The rain continued to lash against the glass windows of Mark's marine shop as the clock on the wall crept past 1:15 a.m. Mia had finally fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep on a makeshift bed of boat cushions near the wood stove, her tiny thumb tucked securely into her mouth.
The quiet of the office was shattered by the sudden, violent vibration of my phone against the wooden desk.
The caller ID displayed a name I didn't want to see. Chloe.
I stared at the screen, my finger hovering over the red button. Mark looked over from his radio console, nodding slowly. "Answer it, Harper. Let's hear how much they’re scrambling."
I pressed the button and held the phone to my ear, saying nothing.
"Harper? Oh my god, Harper, please don't hang up," Chloe’s voice came through the receiver, high-pitched, hysterical, and choked with ragged sobs. She wasn't at the beach anymore; I could hear the distinct, rhythmic chime of a grandfather clock in the background. She was back at our parents' mansion in La Jolla.
"What do you want, Chloe?" I asked, my voice completely devoid of warmth. "Are you calling to see if Mia survived the storm you left her in?"
"I didn't know, Harper! I swear to you, I didn't know Victor was going to be there!" Chloe wailed, her voice cracking with the classic, pathetic victimhood she always used whenever she was caught participating in our mother's schemes. "Mom told me we were just going to take Mia to the tide pools. Then Dad pulled the car behind the old service road, and Victor was just... he was just there standing by the utility truck. I wanted to say something, but Dad told me if I opened my mouth, he would cut off my tuition and take away my apartment lease!"
"You watched a six-year-old girl get tied up with marine rope, Chloe," I said, each word dropping like an icicle into the conversation. "You watched your own niece get shoved behind a garbage bin while a predator tried to negotiate for her safety. Your tuition? Your apartment? That’s what my daughter’s life is worth to you?"
"Mom is losing her mind, Harper," Chloe whispered frantically, ignoring my accusation. "They’re in the study right now with Mr. Harrison—Dad’s corporate attorney. I’m hiding in the hallway upstairs. They’re trying to transfer the ownership deeds for the Catalina slip to a shell company in Panama before the banks open in the morning. They know Mark Brennan is involved. Dad saw his truck at the beach parking lot."
Mark instantly stepped closer to the phone, his eyes narrowing. "Chloe," he commanded, his voice deep and authoritative. "Listen to me very carefully. If you want to stay out of a federal penitentiary for the next fifteen years, you need to turn your phone’s voice recorder on right now."
A sharp gasp came from the other end of the line. "Mark? Is that you?"
"It’s me, Chloe," Mark said coldly. "And I’m currently looking at the physical evidence of child abuse on your niece’s body. The district attorney isn't going to care about your apartment lease when the grand jury looks at these photos. Walk down that hallway, hold your phone near the study door, and record every single word your father and his attorney are saying about Victor’s boat route. Do it now, or I will personally ensure your name is the first one listed on the warrant when the state police breach that front door."
Silence hung over the line for several agonizing seconds. I could hear Chloe’s heavy, terrified breathing through the speaker—the sound of a girl who had spent her entire life being a compliant doll in Eleanor’s showcase, suddenly realizing that the display case was on fire.
"Okay," Chloe whispered, her voice trembling so hard I could barely understand her. "Okay, I’ll do it. But Harper... please tell Mia I’m sorry. Please tell her Aunt Chloe didn't mean to let the bad man touch her."
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"Tell her yourself when you’re standing in front of a judge, Chloe," I said, and ended the call.
Mark looked at me, a grim, respect-filled nod touching his jaw. "She'll do it. She’s a coward, and cowards always turn on the alpha when the cage gets tight. Now, let’s get the harbor patrol on the line. We have an coordinates to intercept."
