“Where are you?” I asked Claire again.
“In the kitchen.”
“Can you get outside?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don't want them to know I'm talking to you.”
I looked at Ethan.
He was already reaching for his coat.
“Keep the line open,” I told Claire. “Don't say anything unless you have to.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I'm coming.”
“No, Daniel.”
Her voice sharpened.
“You don't understand. Thomas has a gun.”
I froze.
Ethan stopped moving.
“Did you see it?”
“I saw it on his belt.”
“Don't confront them.”
“I know.”
“Daniel, please.”
“I won't.”
I motioned to Ethan.
“Call the police.”
He nodded and stepped away.
I lowered my voice.
“Claire, listen carefully. I need you to do exactly what I say.”
“Okay.”
“Where's your mother?”
“She isn't here.”
“Where is Sophie?”
“With me.”
I looked across the office.
Sophie was standing near the reception desk, watching my face.
I covered the phone.
“Sophie, come here.”
She approached.
“What happened?”
“Your mother is in danger.”
Her face changed.
“Is Mom okay?”
“She is right now.”
“Where is she?”
“At Grandpa's house.”
Sophie reached for my arm.
“Dad, go get her.”
“I am.”
She looked frightened.
I crouched in front of her.
“You're staying with Ethan.”
“No.”
“Sophie.”
“I want to come.”
“No.”
“But—”
“You are not walking into that house.”
Her eyes filled.
“I don't want Mom to be alone.”
“She won't be.”
I looked at Ethan.
“Take her to the secure office.”
He nodded.
Sophie resisted for a second.
Then she whispered, “Bring her back.”
“I will.”
I returned to the call.
“Claire, can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Go to the pantry.”
“Why?”
“There's a back door?”
“Yes.”
“Is it locked?”
“I think so.”
“Check without making noise.”
I heard movement.
A cabinet door opened.
Then silence.
“It's locked.”
“Can you unlock it?”
“Yes.”
“Do it slowly.”
Another pause.
“Done.”
“Good. Stay there.”
“What about Dad?”
“Don't worry about him.”
“He knows something.”
“What?”
“He said you would come.”
My jaw tightened.
“How did he know?”
“I don't know.”
Thomas's voice came faintly through the phone.
“Claire?”
She stopped breathing.
I whispered, “Don't answer.”
“Claire?”
His footsteps sounded in the background.
She covered the phone.
I could hear muffled voices.
Then Martin shouted.
“Who are you talking to?”
The call went silent.
“Claire?”
Nothing.
“Claire!”
The line disconnected.
I stared at the screen.
Ethan returned.
“Police are on the way.”
“How far?”
“Seven minutes.”
“Too long.”
“We don't know that.”
I grabbed my coat.
“I'm going.”
Ethan stepped in front of me.
“You heard what she said.”
“I heard.”
“You can't go in there.”
“I won't.”
“Then where are you going?”
I looked toward the parking lot.
“Close enough to see what happens.”
He shook his head.
“Daniel.”
“I am not sitting here while my wife is trapped in a house with an armed man.”
He didn't argue after that.
We drove separately.
Ethan followed me.
The Collins house was less than fifteen minutes away.
I parked two houses down.
Police vehicles arrived moments later, lights off.
An officer approached.
“You're Daniel Whitaker?”
“Yes.”
“Your attorney said you might be involved.”
“Claire is inside.”
“Do you know how many people?”
“Martin, Thomas, and Claire.”
“Anyone else?”
“I don't think so.”
The officer nodded.
“Stay here.”
I watched officers move toward the house.
One went around the side.
Another approached the front.
Then a voice came over the radio.
“Female exiting rear.”
I saw Claire.
She ran into the snow.
An officer caught her arm.
She turned and looked toward me.
Her face collapsed with relief.
I ran toward her.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Where are they?”
“Inside.”
“What happened?”
“Thomas found out I had copied the documents.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“Yes.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
I took her shoulders.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She looked toward the house.
“He said Martin wanted you to come.”
I stared at the windows.
“What did Martin say?”
“He said you would never believe the truth unless you saw it yourself.”
A loud crash came from inside.
Police shouted.
Claire flinched.
Then another voice came over the radio.
“Suspect moving toward rear.”
I stepped back.
Officers rushed past us.
Seconds later, Thomas emerged through the back door.
He froze when he saw the police.
Then he ran.
Three officers chased him across the yard.
He slipped in the snow.
They tackled him.
I stood beside Claire.
Neither of us spoke.
A minute later, Martin was escorted from the house.
His hands were cuffed.
He looked at me.
“You don't understand.”
I said nothing.
He shouted as officers led him away.
“Daniel! You don't know what Thomas did!”
I stared at him.
“You're right.”
He stopped.
“You don't know.”
Then he was gone.
Inside the house, investigators found boxes.
Contracts.
Computer drives.
Printed emails.
Bank statements.
And one locked metal case.
The case contained something I hadn't expected.
A copy of the original ownership documents.
My attorney examined them.
“They're genuine.”
I stared at the papers.
“Then why did Martin create the false ones?”
“To create uncertainty.”
“But this proves ownership.”
“Yes.”
I looked at the signature.
Mine.
The date.
Eleven years earlier.
The company was mine.
It had always been mine.
The fake document had never changed that.
But Martin hadn't needed legal ownership if he could create enough confusion to make everyone believe I didn't have it.
The following morning, Thomas's attorney requested a meeting.
I refused.
Then he offered information.
That changed things.
Thomas agreed to cooperate.
He told investigators that Martin had approached him eighteen months earlier.
Martin had offered money.
Then more money.
Then threats.
Thomas claimed he had initially refused.
But when his own company began struggling, Martin offered him a position with a competitor.
The plan had been simple.
Steal information.
Manipulate records.
Create the appearance of financial instability.
Then wait for the divorce.
“Why did you agree?” I asked him later.
Thomas looked ashamed.
“I thought you would recover.”
“That doesn't answer the question.”
“I thought you had enough money.”
I stared at him.
“You decided theft was acceptable because you thought I could afford it.”
He lowered his head.
“Yes.”
That sentence stayed with me.
People often imagined greed as desperation.
Sometimes it was something colder.
A belief that another person's success made their property available.
Thomas told us about the anonymous account.
It had been his.
But he wasn't the only one communicating with Martin.
Someone else had helped him access the old signature system.
“Who?”
Thomas shook his head.
“I never met them.”
“Then how did you communicate?”
“Messages.”
“From where?”
“An encrypted account.”
“Who created it?”
“Martin.”
I looked at my attorney.
“Can you trace it?”
“We'll try.”
Thomas gave investigators the password.
That opened another set of records.
The account contained hundreds of messages.
Most concerned business.
Some concerned Claire.
Others concerned me.
But one series of messages focused on Sophie.
Thomas had been asked to track her school schedule.
He claimed he never personally did it.
“I gave the request to Ryan.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“He said Martin needed it.”
“For what?”
“I don't know.”
“Try again.”
Thomas swallowed.
“He said Martin wanted to know when she was alone.”
My blood went cold.
That was enough.
I ended the interview.
Outside, Ethan was waiting.
“You okay?”
“No.”
He nodded.
“You shouldn't be.”
I looked toward the parking lot.
“This was never about the company.”
“What do you mean?”
“The company was the prize.”
“And Sophie?”
“She was leverage.”
That night, Sophie asked me whether her mother was safe.
“Yes.”
“Did Grandpa hurt her?”
“No.”
“Did Thomas?”
“No.”
She sat on the edge of my bed.
“Then why are you still scared?”
I looked at her.
“Because I finally understand how far they were willing to go.”
She hugged me.
I held her tightly.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For being the reason.”
I pulled away.
“You are not the reason.”
“But they used me.”
“They tried.”
She looked at me.
“And you stopped them.”
I nodded.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Don't ever let anyone tell you protecting me means hiding the truth.”
I smiled sadly.
“I won't.”
The next morning, the prosecutor called.
“There is enough evidence to expand the case.”
“How far?”
“Fraud, conspiracy, theft, unlawful access, corporate espionage.”
I listened.
“And the threats?”
“Those are being investigated separately.”
I looked through the window.
“Good.”
The prosecutor hesitated.
“There is another matter.”
“What?”
“Your father-in-law claims he has information that could affect your divorce.”
I frowned.
“What information?”
“He won't tell us.”
“What does he want?”
“A private meeting.”
I almost laughed.
“He's already had one.”
“He says this is different.”
“What does he want?”
“He wants you to come alone.”
I looked at Ethan.
“No.”
The prosecutor nodded.
“That was my recommendation.”
I ended the call.
Then my phone buzzed.
A text.
From Martin's attorney.
Your father-in-law says the truth about Emily has not yet been told.
I stared at the message.
The case wasn't finished.
And neither was the secret that had started all of this.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: Martin Offered One Final Secret in Exchange for Silence, but What He Claimed About Emily Could Destroy More Than His Own Reputation
My Daughter Called Me From the Cold, and Within Minutes I Knew the Family I Had Protected Was No Longer Worth Protecting
Part 9 of 20
