“He’s trying to knock us off,” I whispered, panic rising in my throat like bile. “He wants us to fall.”
“Stay still,” my mother commanded, her voice weak but fierce. “If we move too much, the root will snap. We have to be dead. We have to let him think we’re dead.”
The car rocked again as another stone hit the trunk. We huddled in the darkness, two terrified women suspended between heaven and earth by a piece of wood.
“Why?” I asked, tears streaming down my face. “Why would he do this? We’ve been happy. We’re trying to have a baby!”
My mother let out a bitter, wet laugh that turned into a coughing fit. “Money, Sarah. It’s always money. And it’s my fault.”
She reached into her coat pocket with a trembling hand, pulling out a small, blood-stained handkerchief. She wiped her mouth.
“The trust fund,” she said. “The one your father set up before he died. You know about the small one you get access to at thirty. But you didn’t know about the master trust.”
I shook my head. “What master trust?”
“Ten million dollars,” Eleanor whispered. “It vests next month, on your thirtieth birthday. I structured it so that if I die, it passes immediately to you. But if we both die… or if you die without a will…”
“It goes to my next of kin,” I finished, the horror dawning on me. “To my husband.”
“He found out,” Eleanor said. “I kept the documents in my safe. But last week, I found the papers moved. Just slightly. I thought I was being paranoid. But he must have broken the code.”
I felt sick. Physically ill. The last three years of my life—the romance, the wedding, the plans for a family—played back in my mind like a twisted horror movie. He hadn’t been building a life with me. He had been investing in a payout. He was waiting for the trust to vest, and he needed both of us gone to claim it all.
Above us, the rain intensified. The flashlight beam swept over the car again.
