Chapter 4 - The Ghost of MayaThe mention of Maya’s name sent a violent jolt through my chest. I pushed open the heavy steel door of the observation room and stepped directly into the interrogation room.
The room went dead silent.
Dennis shrank back down into his chair, his lower lip trembling. Trisha turned her face away, her jaw clenched in pure venom.
"Don't you ever speak her name," I said, my voice dangerously quiet.
"Dad..." Dennis whimpered. "You know how Maya was. She was unstable. She dropped the baby off on our doorstep six years ago, signed a napkin giving us custody, and disappeared into the night! We protected her secret!"
"That is a lie," I said, stepping closer to the table until I was towering over my son.
I pulled a second document from my portfolio—a certified legal affidavit signed by a private investigator I had quietly hired late last night, backed by bank records and hospital logs.
"Maya didn't disappear into the night, Dennis," I whispered, the rage burning hot and pure in my veins. "Six years ago, Maya came to this house to tell me the truth about you. She told me that you had been forging documents, stealing money from my retirement accounts, and threatening her life if she didn't sign over her inheritance rights."
Dennis swallowed hard, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. "That’s... that’s insane. She was delusional!"
"She was carrying your daughter," I continued, my voice steady. "And the night before she planned to leave this house and take Sophie to the police, she vanished. Her car was found abandoned near the Gorge. The police ruled it a missing person presumed drowned. But my investigator just uncovered something fascinating."
I slapped a bank transfer receipt onto the table right in front of Dennis.
"A wire transfer of fifty thousand dollars from a corporate account managed by you, Dennis, sent to an offshore medical facility in Vancouver on the exact week Maya disappeared. A facility that specializes in long-term memory care and psychological confinement for patients suffering from induced trauma."
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Trisha let out a sharp gasp, covering her mouth with her hands.
"You didn't just lock Sophie in the attic," I whispered, leaning down so close my breath brushed my son's ear. "You stole my daughter's life, you stole her child, and you turned my own home into a prison camp."
