Chapter 7 - Trapped by Design
I stared at the ledger,
the ink blurring before my eyes,
as the cold truth settled in.
My father,
the man who raised me,
the man I respected,
was part of this.
He wasn't fooled by Ethan's lies,
he was protecting his own skin.
What had they done?
What did they buy with my life?
I heard a noise outside.
A twig snapping.
The rustle of dry leaves.
I froze,
holding the ledger to my chest.
The wind blew hard against the cabin,
making the old wood groan.
But this sound was different.
It was deliberate.
Footsteps.
Moving around the perimeter of the house.
I crept to the window,
peeking through the dirty glass.
A figure stood near my car.
They were holding something.
A flash of metal.
They were slashing my tires.
I gasped,
covering my mouth.
They were trapping me here.
In the middle of nowhere.
With no escape.
I ran to Noah,
scooping him up in my arms,
waking him instantly.
"Mommy?"
he whimpered,
confused and scared.
"Shh, sweetie,"
I whispered,
"we are playing a game."
"We have to be very quiet."
I grabbed the ledger,
shoved it into my bag,
and looked for another exit.
The back door was rusted shut.
The windows were too small.
The front door was the only way out.
Suddenly,
the handle turned.
The old lock rattled.
"Emma,"
a voice called out.
It wasn't Ethan.
It was my father.
"Open the door, pumpkin,"
he said,
his voice deceptively gentle.
"Let's talk about this."
"You slashed my tires!"
I yelled,
retreating toward the kitchen.
"We just want to protect the family,"
he said,
his voice growing colder.
"You're making a big mistake."
"You took the money,"
I screamed.
"Ethan paid you!"
Silence followed my words.
Then,
the sound of wood splintering.
He was kicking the door down.
I had seconds.
I ran to the small pantry,
finding the hidden storm cellar door,
built into the floor.
I lifted the heavy wooden hatch,
descending into the dark,
May you like
pulling the door shut above us,
just as the front door exploded open.
