Chapter 2: The Recording He Forgot About
I didn't open the door immediately.
My father's question kept repeating in my head.
Where did you get the document with your name on it?
I hadn't shown him any document.
I hadn't even seen one.
Not yet.
“Dad, what document?”” I asked through the door.
There was a long pause.
“Open the door, Emily.””
“You took my phone. You grounded me. You didn't believe a word I said. Now you want me to open the door because of a document I've never seen?””
“I'm asking you a question.””
“And I'm asking you one.””
His footsteps shifted.
Behind him, I heard Linda say something too quiet to understand.
Dad lowered his voice.
“Your stepmother says you were going through her things earlier.””
“I wasn't.””
“She says you took something from her purse.””
“Dad, I haven't touched Linda's purse!””
A door slammed downstairs.
Tyler had gone back to the living room.
I pressed my forehead against the wood.
“Dad, please tell me what's happening.””
He didn't answer.
Then Linda called from downstairs.
“Mark, leave her alone. She's obviously trying to confuse you.””
My father exhaled sharply.
“Stay in your room.””
His footsteps retreated.
I waited until the house became quiet.
Then I heard a faint buzzing sound from the kitchen.
My phone.
I couldn't retrieve it without passing the living room, but the recording was suddenly the only thing that mattered.
If Tyler had seen me open the voice recorder, he might have assumed it was still running. Maybe that was why he'd panicked outside my door.
I needed to know.
I eased the door open and peered into the hallway.
Empty.
The staircase creaked beneath my feet as I descended one step at a time.
The kitchen lights were off, but a narrow strip of yellow light spilled from the living room. Dad was sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. Linda stood near the television, speaking in a low voice.
Tyler was nowhere to be seen.
My phone lay on the kitchen counter.
I took three silent steps toward it.
Then Linda turned.
“Emily?””
I stopped.
“What are you doing out of your room?””
“I need water.””
“The kitchen is not your personal playground. Go upstairs.””
I reached for a glass.
Linda watched every movement.
“Your father is very disappointed in you.””
“I know.””
“Do you? Because you don't seem sorry.””
I filled the glass from the tap.
“Would you believe me if I said I didn't break the television?””
She gave a cold little laugh.
“Why would I believe you when everyone else is telling the same story?””
“Because I was there.””
“And Tyler was there too.””
“Exactly.””
Her eyes narrowed.
For a second, something passed across her face that wasn't anger.
It was fear.
Then she stepped between me and the counter.
“Go to bed.””
I returned upstairs without my phone.
But as I passed the living room, I noticed Dad had placed it on the side table beside him.
I would have to wait.
Back in my bedroom, I sat on the floor and listened to the house.
At eleven forty-three, Dad went upstairs.
At midnight, Linda locked the front door.
At twelve fifteen, a floorboard creaked in the hallway.
Then came a soft tapping at my window.
I nearly screamed.
My bedroom was on the second floor, and the window overlooked the narrow roof above the garage. I pulled the curtain aside.
Tyler crouched outside on the roof, one hand gripping the gutter.
I unlocked the window just enough to hear him.
“Are you insane?”” I whispered.
“Get down!””
“Keep your voice down.””
“You're standing outside my window!””
“Emily, listen to me.””
“No.””
He glanced toward the house next door.
“Do you still have the recording?””
I stared at him.
“You know I do?””
His mouth tightened.
“Just tell me.””
“Why? So you can delete it?””
“I'm trying to help you.””
I almost laughed.
“You framed me, Tyler.””
“I didn't mean for Dad to ground you.””
“You literally watched him do it!””
Tyler looked away.
For the first time, I noticed a small cut across his right palm. A streak of blood had dried along his thumb.
“What's that from?”” I asked.
He closed his fist.
“Nothing.””
“Did you cut yourself on the television?””
“No.””
“Then what happened?””
“Forget it.””
He leaned closer to the window.
“Whatever you recorded, you need to delete it before morning.””
“Why?””
“Because Linda is going to find out.””
“Find out what?””
His eyes darted toward the bedroom door.
Then he said, “The document wasn't supposed to be there.””
My stomach tightened.
“What document?””
Tyler's expression changed.
He had said too much.
“Go to sleep, Emily.””
He started backing away.
“Tyler, get back here!””
He scrambled toward the corner of the roof and disappeared from view.
I watched the window for several minutes, waiting to see if he would return.
He didn't.
At twelve thirty-seven, my phone buzzed again downstairs.
This time, the sound was followed by Linda's sharp voice.
“Mark, you need to look at this.””
I crept toward my bedroom door.
“I don't care what she says,” Dad replied.
“It's not from her.””
Silence.
Then Dad said, “What do you mean?””
“I received a message.””
My breath caught.
Another pause.
“Who sent it?””
“I don't know.””
The floorboards creaked as Dad walked toward the stairs.
I hurried back to my bed.
Seconds later, my door opened.
Dad stood in the doorway holding my phone.
His expression was unreadable.
“Emily, did you receive a text from an unknown number tonight?””
“I don't have my phone.””
“Before I took it.””
“No.””
He studied me.
“Think carefully.””
“I didn't get any text messages.””
He stepped inside and shut the door.
“Someone just sent Linda a photograph of a document. It has your name on it, and the sender claims you have a copy.””
My pulse hammered.
“Dad, I don't know anything about a document.””
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he held up my phone.
“Your recorder was running tonight.””
I couldn't hide my reaction.
His eyes sharpened.
“You knew?””
“I wasn't sure.””
He sat on the edge of my desk chair and opened the recording.
The first few seconds were muffled.
Then came the sound of Tyler bouncing his soccer ball.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Dad's face changed.
He listened to Tyler's voice.
“She'll get blamed like always.””
The room seemed to shrink around us.
Dad stopped the recording.
Neither of us spoke.
Then he played it again.
Tyler's voice was unmistakable.
“She'll get blamed like always.””
Dad looked at me.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
I stared at him.
“I tried.””
He lowered his eyes.
For a moment, I thought he might apologize.
Instead, he asked, “What else is on this recording?””
“I don't know. I haven't listened to all of it.””
He stood abruptly.
“Don't show this to anyone. Not Linda. Not Tyler. Not your friends.””
“Why?””
“Because I need to understand what's happening first.””
“Dad, you heard him admit he planned it!””
“I heard him say something suspicious.””
“Suspicious?””
His jaw tightened.
“Emily, this is more complicated than you realize.””
“Then explain it to me.””
He looked toward the door.
“I can't. Not yet.””
He handed me my phone and walked out.
I stared at the screen.
The recording had captured everything from the moment I left the phone on the couch until Dad took it away.
I put in my earbuds and started from the beginning.
For twenty minutes, I heard ordinary household sounds: footsteps, running water, Linda opening cabinets.
Then, at 8:17 p.m., Tyler's voice came through clearly.
“Mom, where did you put it?””
Linda answered from somewhere near the kitchen.
“Not here. Your father might see.””
“He already asked about it.””
“Then stop asking questions.””
A drawer opened.
Paper rustled.
Tyler whispered, “What if she finds out?””
Linda's response made my fingers go cold.
“She won't. And even if she does, your father will believe us before he believes her.””
A few seconds later, Tyler said, “What about the signature?””
“It's handled.””
“Are you sure?””
“Tyler, I said it's handled.””
Then came footsteps.
The sound of a door opening.
A chair scraping across the floor.
And Tyler again.
“She'll get blamed like always.””
The recording continued.
I heard him check the hallway.
I heard the television break.
I heard Linda scream.
But beneath those familiar sounds was something I hadn't noticed before.
At 8:21 p.m., just seconds before the television shattered, a piece of paper slid across a hard surface.
Then Tyler whispered, “I got it.””
Linda answered, “Put it back before he notices.””
Tyler laughed.
“What if she sees?””
Linda's voice dropped so low I had to turn up the volume.
“Then we make sure she never gets the chance to tell him.””
The recording ended with a soft click.
I sat perfectly still.
My stepmother and stepbrother had been hiding something before the television broke.
Something involving a signature.
Something involving me.
And whatever it was, Linda was willing to frame me to keep it secret.
My phone vibrated in my hand.
An unknown number.
I opened the message.
You have until morning to delete the recording. If Mark sees the document, he'll learn what Linda did before you were born.
I read it twice.
Then a second message appeared.
Check the white envelope. Tyler took the document before he broke the television.
I opened the recording again and watched the audio timeline, wishing the app could show me what had happened rather than merely let me hear it.
Then I remembered something.
When Tyler had stood near the television, he'd been holding a white envelope.
I had assumed it was an advertisement Dad had brought home.
But the recording contained the unmistakable sound of paper being pulled out.
And the message had specifically mentioned a white envelope.
I replayed the final minutes.
At 8:20 p.m., the envelope crinkled.
At 8:21 p.m., Tyler said, “I got it.””
Then the television broke.
I opened my bedroom door and crept downstairs again.
The living room was dark.
The television's shattered screen reflected the faint light from the kitchen.
I searched the entertainment unit, the coffee table, and the space between the couch cushions.
Nothing.
Then I noticed a small white corner sticking out from beneath the cabinet.
I knelt and pulled it free.
It was an envelope.
My name was written across the front in black ink.
*EMILY CARTER.*
My hands began to shake.
I opened it.
Inside was a single folded document, stamped with the seal of a law firm.
The first line read:
*NOTICE OF BENEFICIAL OWNERSHIP AND TRUST TRANSFER.*
Below it was my full legal name.
And beneath my name was a figure that made me forget how to breathe.
$2,400,000.
At the bottom of the page was a signature.
May you like
Mine.
Except I had never signed it.
