Chapter 7 - Shadows in the CabinI pressed my back against the damp, rotting wood of the cabin wall, right beneath the window where the voices were clashing like steel swords. The rain was drumming a heavy beat on the tin roof, masking my footsteps, but my heart was pounding so loudly I was terrified they would hear it.
"...so what now?" Trevor asked, his voice shaking with a mix of panic and resignation. "The police have my mother. They’re tearing apart her estate. It’s only a matter of time before they look at our joint accounts."
"We let her take the fall," Veronica replied coldly, her tone devoid of any human emotion. "She’s old. She’ll take a plea deal or spend her remaining years in a comfortable prison wing. We tell the police she acted alone out of senile psychosis. Once the dust settles, we inherit what’s left of the estate, and we start over."
"And Clara?" Trevor asked, a slight hesitation in his voice. "What about my wife?"
"Clara is finished," Veronica sneered. "Who do you think the jury is going to believe? A grieving mother who was already struggling with severe postpartum depression, or a respected businessman whose mother went rogue? We’ll paint her as unstable. We already started planting the rumors at the reception."
A cold rage, sharp and pure, burned away every ounce of grief, fear, and hesitation left inside me. They weren't just murderers; they were predators planning to destroy what was left of my life and blame me for the deaths of my own children.
I reached down to my pocket, pulling out my phone. The screen flashed No Service, but the camera app still worked. With steady fingers, I raised the phone above the window frame, angling the lens through a cracked pane of glass, and hit record.
The video captured everything: Veronica standing by the fireplace with a glass of scotch, her expensive designer coat draped over a chair; Trevor slumped at the wooden dining table, his face buried in his hands, nodding in silent agreement to her callous strategy.
"We need to get rid of the remaining vials from the medical supply company," Veronica said, walking over to a leather duffel bag sitting on the floor. She unzipped it, revealing a collection of medical bottles and syringes identical to the ones found in Eleanor’s kitchen. "I brought the backup batch from the garage. Once we dump these in the deep lake trench, there's no physical link back to us."
Trevor looked up, staring at the bag of poison that had killed his sons. For a second, a flicker of guilt crossed his face. "Do we really have to do this, Ronni? It feels... dirty."
"It's survival, Trevor," Veronica said, walking over and placing a hand on his shoulder, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "Unless you want to lose everything—your job, your social standing, your freedom—you do what I say."
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As she turned away to grab her jacket, I knew I couldn't wait for them to finish packing. I had the video evidence, but if they destroyed the remaining vials, they might still find a way to slip through the cracks of the legal system.
I stepped away from the window, walked around to the heavy front wooden door, and raised my foot. With a powerful kick fueled by pure adrenaline, the old wooden latch splintered, and the door flew wide open, crashing against the interior wall with a thunderous bang.
