Another lie, but one that might create the distraction we needed.

“She’s never trusted you, has she?” I continued. “Always favored Caleb despite his rebellion. Why do you think that is?”

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Daniel warned.

But doubt had crept into his expression.

“Am I? Or is she?” I moved toward the door. “Maybe you should ask yourself why she’s so desperate to keep certain secrets buried.”

I brushed past him, heart pounding. The seeds of doubt had been planted. Now I needed to find Caleb and share what I had discovered.

I found him in the garden with Margaret, engaged in what appeared to be a tense conversation. When he saw me, relief washed over his face.

“Everything okay?” he asked, eyes searching mine.

“Fine,” I replied, giving him a meaningful look. “Just getting to know the house better.”

Margaret’s smile was brittle.

“Daniel found you, I assume.”

“He did. We had an interesting conversation about family loyalty.”

Something flashed in Margaret’s eyes. Concern, perhaps even fear.

Good.

The cracks spread throughout the day. I carefully fed Daniel’s suspicions whenever Margaret wasn’t around: small comments about his mother’s paranoia, questions about why she might have wanted Victor’s estate for herself, observations about how much control she exerted over the family fortune.

Meanwhile, I shared my discoveries with Caleb in hushed whispers whenever we could steal a moment alone.

“Your father suspected your mother was poisoning him,” I told him during a brief moment in our room. “The journal mentions tea specifically.”

Caleb’s face went pale.

“Like the tea she offered you.”

“Exactly. And he trusted my mother. They were friends. He told her about his suspicions.”

“Which is why she left immediately after he died,” Caleb realized. “She was afraid.”

“We need to get out of here,” I said urgently. “Tonight. Your mother is unraveling, and Daniel is a wild card.”

We formulated a plan. During dinner, I would create a distraction, something to drive a wedge between Margaret and Daniel. While they were at odds, Caleb would find the spare car keys he knew were kept in the kitchen drawer.

That evening, we gathered in the dining room one last time. The tension was palpable, with Daniel watching his mother through narrowed eyes and Margaret maintaining her perfect hostess facade despite the obvious strain.

I waited until the main course was served before making my move.

“I’ve been thinking about Victor’s death,” I said casually, cutting into my untouched steak. “It’s interesting that no autopsy was performed.”

The table went silent.

Margaret’s smile vanished.

“That was a private family matter,” she said coldly.

“Was it? Or was it because an autopsy might have revealed something in his system? Something in the tea, perhaps?”

Daniel’s head snapped up.

“What are you talking about?”

I turned to him.

“Your father kept a journal. Did you know that? He documented his suspicions in the weeks before his death.”

Margaret’s knuckles whitened around her fork.

“This is absurd. Caleb, control your wife.”

“I’ve seen the journal,” Caleb said quietly. “It’s true.”

Daniel pushed back from the table.

“Is this why you’ve been acting strange since we arrived? You found something and didn’t tell me?”

“Would you have believed me?” Caleb challenged. “You’ve always taken her side.”

“Maybe it’s time we stop pretending,” Daniel snapped, turning to Margaret. “Maybe it’s time we admit what this family really is.”

Margaret’s composure finally cracked.

“You think you’re entitled to the truth? You couldn’t handle the truth about this family.”

As their voices rose, I caught Caleb’s eye and nodded slightly. While Margaret and Daniel were locked in their increasingly heated argument, he slipped out of the dining room toward the kitchen. I stayed, keeping the fight going with carefully placed comments until I saw Caleb return, giving me the barest nod to indicate he had found the keys.

“This conversation is over,” Margaret declared, standing abruptly. “Daniel, we’ll discuss this privately.”

It was the opening we needed.

As they stormed off to Margaret’s study, Caleb and I made our way quickly and quietly to the front door.

“Now,” I whispered. “We go now.”

We didn’t bother with our bags. Freedom mattered more than possessions.

Caleb led the way to the garage, where a second car, an older model SUV, was parked. We slipped inside, and Caleb inserted the key with shaking hands.

The engine roared to life just as the front door burst open.

Margaret stood there, her perfect composure shattered, her face contorted with rage.

“Stop them!” she screamed.

Daniel sprinted toward the garage.

Caleb floored the accelerator, and we shot down the driveway, gravel spraying behind us. In the rearview mirror, I saw Daniel racing to another vehicle parked near the house.

“They’re following us,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

“I know a back way,” Caleb replied grimly, veering off the main driveway onto a dirt road that wound through the woods surrounding the estate. “It’s rough, but it’ll get us to the highway.”

The SUV bounced violently as we sped down the unmaintained road, branches scraping against the windows. Behind us, headlights appeared.

Daniel’s car.

Gaining ground on the narrow path.

“He knows these roads, too,” Caleb muttered. “Probably better than I do. It’s been years since I’ve been back here.”

I pulled out my phone.

“I have a signal. It’s weak, but—”

“Call 911,” Caleb urged, swerving to avoid a fallen branch.

My fingers trembled as I dialed, the phone pressed to my ear while the car jolted over the uneven terrain.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

The operator’s voice was faint but clear.

“My name is Elise Grant,” I said as calmly as I could. “My husband and I are being pursued after being held against our will at the Grant Estate in Westchester County. We’re currently on a back road heading toward Highway 22.”

“Can you describe the vehicle following you?”

I glanced back.

“Black SUV, closing fast. The driver is Daniel Grant. We’re in a silver Honda CR-V.”

“Stay on the line, Mrs. Grant. I’m dispatching officers to your location.”

The dirt road widened slightly as we approached what appeared to be an old bridge spanning a ravine. Just as we reached it, Daniel’s SUV pulled alongside us, attempting to force us off the road.

“Hold on!” Caleb shouted, jerking the wheel to avoid collision.

Our car swerved violently, nearly hitting a tree. The front tire caught the edge of the road, and we spun, coming to a stop mere feet from the bridge’s guardrail. Steam hissed from under the hood.

“The engine’s damaged,” Caleb said, trying to restart the car. “We have to go on foot.”

Daniel’s SUV had skidded to a stop several yards ahead. As we watched, he began to turn around to come back for us.

“Into the woods,” I urged, grabbing Caleb’s arm. “Now.”

We abandoned the car and ran into the thick forest bordering the road. Behind us, I heard a car door slam and Daniel shouting our names.

The woods were dense, shadows deepening as the sun began to set. Caleb led the way, moving with surprising confidence through the underbrush.

“There’s an old ranger station about half a mile from here,” he whispered. “We used to explore these woods as kids.”

I followed closely, trying to stay silent despite the twigs snapping underfoot. My boot caught on a root, and I stumbled, barely catching myself against a tree trunk. The note I had hidden in my boot fell out, but there was no time to retrieve it.

Daniel’s voice was getting closer.

We pushed on, moving as quickly as we dared in the fading light. Finally, a small structure appeared ahead: the abandoned ranger station, its wooden walls weathered by years of neglect.

“Around the back,” Caleb said, pulling me toward the rear of the building, where a small door hung partially off its hinges.

We slipped inside just as Daniel’s flashlight beam swept through the trees behind us.

The interior was musty and dark, with broken furniture scattered across the floor. We crouched behind what remained of a desk, holding our breath as footsteps circled the building.

“I know you’re here somewhere,” Daniel called, his voice unnervingly calm. “This can all be resolved if you just come back to the house. Mother’s worried about you both.”

Neither of us moved.

The footsteps paused outside the back door, and I gripped Caleb’s hand so tightly my knuckles ached.

Then, in the distance, came a sound that made my heart leap.

Sirens, growing louder by the second.

Daniel heard them, too. His footsteps quickened, moving away from the station and back toward the road. Moments later, we heard a car engine revving, then fading as he retreated.

We waited until the sirens were close before emerging from our hiding place. Two police cruisers had pulled up beside our abandoned vehicle, and officers were scanning the area with flashlights.

“Here!” I called, waving my arms. “We’re here.”

The officers approached cautiously, hands near their weapons until they confirmed our identities. While one took our statements, the other radioed for backup to investigate the Grant Estate.

“You’re saying this woman, Margaret Grant, held you against your will?” the officer asked, notepad in hand.

“Yes,” I replied firmly. “She locked us in a room, took our phones and car keys, and prevented us from leaving. When we managed to escape, her son Daniel chased us in another vehicle.”

“We have evidence,” Caleb added. “Photos of a journal belonging to my late father, Victor Grant, suggesting my mother may have been poisoning him before his death.”

The officer’s eyebrows rose.

“That’s a serious accusation.”

“We also have surveillance photos proving Margaret Grant has been having Elise followed for over a year,” Caleb continued. “They’re in her study at the house.”

While we gave our statements, additional police cars arrived and headed toward the Grant Estate. We were escorted to the station to file a formal report, the adrenaline finally ebbing from my system, leaving me exhausted and shaking.