Chapter 4 - THE GHOST OF THE PAST
The rain fell in heavy torrents as our black SUV tore through the winding roads of the Blue Ridge Mountains toward Pinecrest Sanctuary.
Inside the vehicle were Major Vance, myself, and a tactical team of state troopers executing an emergency federal warrant for human trafficking and unlawful imprisonment.
Major Vance’s hands were shaking as he checked his sidearm. “They told my family she died in her sleep. They produced a death certificate signed by a doctor on their payroll. My parents died believing their daughter was gone!”
“Patricia Ferguson doesn’t just control people with money,” I said, looking out into the dark forest. “When people try to leave her family, she erases them. She did it to Clara, and she was doing it to Abigail.”
An hour later, we breached the heavy wrought-iron gates of Pinecrest Sanctuary.
The facility looked like a Mediterranean villa, surrounded by twelve-foot security walls and armed private guards. But when the state troopers flashed federal warrants, the guards immediately laid down their weapons.
We rushed down the polished marble corridors of the subterranean wing, guided by the facility’s schematics that Sergeant Hayes had overridden remotely.
At the very end of Hallway C, behind a heavy electronic lock door, we found Room 104.
Major Vance kicked the door open.
Inside, sitting by a window overlooking a concrete wall, was a thin, pale woman with long graying hair. She was staring blankly at her hands, wearing a white gown identical to the one Abigail had been wearing in the hospital.
“Clara?” Major Vance choked out, stepping into the room, tears streaming down his face.
The woman turned slowly. Her eyes were hollow, filled with years of trauma, but as she looked at Major Vance’s face, a spark of recognition flared in her eyes.
“David?” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. “Is... is it really you?”
Major Vance dropped to his knees, throwing his arms around his sister, weeping openly.
I stepped into the room, maintaining watch at the door. Clara looked over her brother’s shoulder at me, seeing my uniform.
“They... they told me no one would ever come,” Clara whimpered, her voice raspy. “Gregory... Gregory locked me away because I found the books.”
“What books, Clara?” I asked gently, kneeling beside her.
Clara’s body shivered. “The ledgers. The Ferguson family... they don’t just run defense supply companies. They keep blackmail files on everyone in North Carolina. Judges, senators, police chiefs... Patricia keeps them all in a safe in the floor of her private ballroom at the Ferguson Estate.”
May you like
She looked at me with wild, desperate eyes. “If you try to take them down, she’ll burn everything before she lets you win!”
I took Clara’s trembling hands in mine. “She won’t have the chance, Clara. Because tomorrow night, Patricia is throwing her annual gala. And we are going to be her guest of honor.”
