Chapter 8 - The Hall of TrophiesThe secret room was pitch black until Vance flicked on the wall switch.
The harsh fluorescent light buzzed to life, illuminating a space that made my stomach heave. The walls were covered in corkboards pinned with hundreds of glossy photographs, medical charts, newspaper clippings, and handwritten notes.
In the center of the room stood a large mahogany table covered in glass display cases.
Inside the cases were personal items belonging to the victims: a silver locket worn by Sarah, hospital ID badges of doctors who had questioned Marlene’s medical decisions in the past, and—right in the middle—a baby photo of my daughter Lily with a red X drawn across her face in permanent marker.
"She was planning to get rid of Clara first, then me, and finally Lily, to collect the entirety of the family trust fund," I whispered, staring at the corkboard in horror. "We were never her family. We were just her retirement portfolio."
Vance stepped up to a locked metal filing cabinet in the corner, pulled out a crowbar from her tactical kit, and jammed it into the seam. With a sharp wrench of her arms, the metal door popped open with a loud screech.
Inside weren't just financial documents. There was a stack of thick, yellowed notebooks titled JOURNAL OF CORRECTIONS — VOLUME I, II, III.
Vance flipped open the top notebook. Her eyes scanned the first page, and her professional composure faltered for a fraction of a second.
"Ethan," she said quietly, handing me the open book. "Look at the entry dated twelve years ago, the day Sarah died."
May you like
I looked down at the neat, familiar cursive:
“Sarah was weak, just like her mother before her. She threatened to expose my arrangement with Dr. Vance’s predecessor. Accidents happen to those who refuse correction. Next project: Clara. She has more spirit, but children always break easier when you start with the ones they love most.”
