Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Had Been WatchingBy midnight, Hawthorne House no longer resembled a Christmas celebration.
Guests had left through the front entrance.
Broken ornaments lay beneath the tree.
The towering cake had collapsed into a white, sticky ruin.
And Grace was sitting in the back of a police vehicle with Oliver asleep against her shoulder.
She had never felt so helpless.
Officer Harris opened the door.
"Your aunt is here."
Grace looked up.
"Helen?"
Helen Brooks hurried across the driveway, her winter coat hanging open.
At forty-six, Helen looked exhausted, her dark-blond hair hastily pulled into a ponytail.
She had been their mother's older sister.
Since Daniel's death, Vivian had repeatedly discouraged her visits.
"Gracie!"
Helen embraced both children.
When she saw the mark on Grace's cheek and the remaining frosting in Oliver's hair, her expression crumpled.
"Oh, sweetheart."
Grace tried to speak.
Instead, she began shaking.
Helen held her tightly.
"You don't have to explain everything right now."
Officer Harris approached.
"Child protective services has been contacted. We're arranging an immediate safety plan while the allegations are assessed."
Helen straightened.
"They can stay with me."
"We'll need to verify a few things, but that may be possible tonight."
Behind the mansion's front windows, Vivian watched them.
She no longer looked furious.
She looked calculating.
Peter stood beside her, speaking into his phone.
Grace turned away.
For the first time in months, she didn't want Vivian's approval.
She wanted distance.
And answers.
An hour later, a child welfare worker completed the preliminary checks needed for the children to stay temporarily with Helen under an agreed safety arrangement.
The investigation and guardianship questions would take longer.
But Grace and Oliver wouldn't be sleeping at Hawthorne House.
Helen helped Oliver into her car.
He had barely fastened his seat belt when he whispered, "Are we allowed to leave?"
Grace felt her throat tighten.
"Yes."
"Even if Vivian says no?"
Helen looked back at him.
"Especially if you're scared."
Oliver stared through the window.
Then he whispered something that made Grace's stomach twist.
"She told me nobody would believe me."
Grace reached for his hand.
"Believe you about what?"
He shook his head.
"Everything."
At Helen's small brick house, Grace helped Oliver shower and change into borrowed pajamas.
The frosting had dried around his ears.
He winced when she gently washed his hair.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
He frowned.
"Why?"
"Because I didn't know."
Oliver's eyes filled again.
"She told me not to tell you."
Grace looked at him.
"When?"
"Before Thanksgiving."
The words struck her.
Thanksgiving had been three weeks earlier.
Vivian had told Grace that Oliver's withdrawn behavior came from grief.
Grace had believed her.
"What happened before Thanksgiving?"
Oliver pulled the towel around his shoulders.
"She made me stand in Daddy's office because I spilled juice. Then she said if I told you, she'd send me somewhere else."
Grace closed her eyes.
She remembered finding Oliver asleep beside his bedroom door that evening.
She had scolded him for refusing to get into bed.
The memory made her sick.
A soft knock interrupted them.
Helen stood in the doorway holding a phone.
"Grace, someone wants to talk to you."
"Who?"
"Lucia Alvarez."
Grace knew Lucia immediately.
She had worked at Hawthorne House for twelve years.
She had helped raise Oliver.
And Vivian had dismissed her from the Christmas party before dinner.
Grace took the phone.
"Lucia?"
The woman's voice trembled.
"I'm sorry to call so late."
"What's wrong?"
"I saw the police. I heard what happened."
Grace swallowed.
"Did you know Vivian was hurting Oliver?"
A long silence followed.
Then Lucia whispered, "I knew she was frightening him."
Grace gripped the phone.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I tried."
Grace frowned.
"When?"
"Three weeks ago. I left a note in your room. Vivian found it."
Grace remembered Vivian telling her that Lucia had been caught gossiping about the family.
She remembered believing her.
Lucia continued.
"I started writing down what happened because I was afraid she'd deny it."
"Writing down?"
"Dates. Times. What she said. Who was present."
Grace sat on the edge of Oliver's bed.
"Do you still have those notes?"
"Yes."
"Lucia, the police need them."
"I know."
Her voice cracked.
"But there's something else."
Grace stopped breathing.
"Tell me."
"I cleaned your father's office yesterday. Peter Sloane left a folder on the desk."
"A blue folder?"
"Yes."
Grace tightened her grip.
"What was inside?"
"I didn't read everything. But I saw an appraisal for the south meadow."
Grace stared at the wall.
Hawthorne House stood on nineteen acres, including a long stretch of meadow where her father had taught both children to ride bicycles.
"What did it say?"
Lucia's answer came in a whisper.
"That the land was worth less than two million dollars."
Grace frowned.
"Isn't that low?"
"Your father had it valued last year."
"At how much?"
Lucia hesitated.
"More than six million."
Grace looked toward Oliver, now curled beneath Helen's quilt.
Three weeks of fear.
A hidden folder.
A secret property deal.
And a woman who had humiliated a child in front of sixty guests to stop him from speaking.
Lucia lowered her voice further.
"Grace, there's something you need to understand."
"What?"
"Your father didn't trust Raymond Vale."
Grace's fingers went numb.
"How do you know?"
"Because two months before he died, he told me never to let Raymond into his office."
Grace looked toward the window.
Outside, snow began falling over Helen's quiet street.
May you like
Then Lucia said one final thing.
"I have proof. And I think Peter knows I kept it."
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