inquest

Chapter 3 - The Safehouse in Vermont

We left through the back fence under the cover of a midnight rainstorm, leaving my dad's truck in the driveway to fool the SUV outside. My dad’s old friend, a retired state trooper named Marcus, met us three miles down the dirt road in an unmarked farm truck.

By sunrise, we were deep in the dense pine forests of rural Vermont, tucked inside a secluded log cabin that hadn't been inhabited in years. Dust motes danced in the pale morning light stream through the cracked window panes.

I sat on a worn leather couch, nursing Nora while my mother boiled water on a wood-burning stove. My body was exhausted, but my mind was racing like a engine on the verge of exploding.

"They have unlimited money, Dad," I said quietly, looking at my daughter's tiny face, her dark blue eyes opening slightly to look at me. "How do we fight people who can buy courts and hide behind corporate shell companies?"

"Money isn't absolute, Clara," my dad said, cleaning a flashlight at the table. "They rely on shadows and fear. We bring light. We find out who Arthur Sterling was, why he needed a secret heir, and why Caleb was so desperate six years ago that he was willing to sell his soul."

My phone—a burner phone Marcus had bought with cash—vibrated on the wooden table. A single text message appeared from an encrypted number:

I know what Caleb did. I know about Vanguard. If you want to save Nora, meet me at the diner on Route 9 in two hours. Come alone, or Vanguard will track the signal.

I stared at the screen. Was it a trap? Or was it our only lifeline?

"Clara, no," my mother pleaded, seeing my expression. "It’s a trick to get you away from us!"

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"If they wanted to capture us, they could have sent men with guns to my parents' house," I reasoned, standing up and setting Nora carefully into her travel crib. "They want compliance. They want me to sign away my rights quietly so there’s no public scandal. Whoever sent this message knows something Victoria Sterling doesn't want me to find out."

"I'm driving you," my father insisted. "I'll sit in the truck with a hunting rifle. You walk in alone, but you won't be unprotected."

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