Chapter 7 - The Empty Bed
I stared at the mugshot of Arthur Vance, realizing my family was entirely trapped by a dangerous, dead phantom.
Arthur must have murdered the real Richard decades ago and seamlessly stolen his wealthy, influential life.
"I have to get to Meredith before he cashes in that life insurance policy," I said, grabbing the documents from the table.
Miller handed me a burner phone and a loaded service pistol from his ankle holster.
"If you find him, Harrison, do not hesitate to shoot, because he certainly will not," Miller warned me.
I drove Miller's unmarked police cruiser back to my own suburban neighborhood, keeping the headlights completely off.
I parked three blocks away and crept silently through the rain-soaked backyards until I reached my patio door.
The house was dark and eerily quiet, completely stripped of its usual warmth and laughter.
I slipped inside and found Meredith sitting alone on the kitchen floor, clutching one of Chloe's stuffed animals and sobbing.
I dropped to my knees in front of her, gently taking her trembling hands in mine.
"Harrison!" she gasped, instinctively trying to pull away from the man she thought was a monster.
"Meredith, please just look at these papers before you scream," I begged, spreading the documents across the floor.
She reluctantly looked down, her tear-filled eyes scanning the DNA report and the terrifying police file.
I watched her heart completely shatter as she realized the father she loved was actually a ruthless, murdering imposter.
"He told me you ran away because you were guilty," Meredith whispered, completely broken by the horrific truth.
"We have to go to the police station right now, show them this evidence, and get Chloe out of the foster system," I urged.
Meredith nodded fiercely, a new, protective rage replacing her sorrow as she grabbed her car keys.
We drove at dangerous speeds through the slick city streets, arriving at the emergency child placement facility downtown.
Meredith flashed her ID to the panicked receptionist, demanding to see our daughter immediately.
The receptionist burst into fresh tears and pointed a shaking finger toward the back hallway.
We sprinted down the corridor and burst through the doors of the temporary sleeping quarters.
The room was in complete disarray, and the assigned social worker was lying unconscious on the floor in a pool of blood.
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I stared in absolute horror at the small, neatly made cot in the corner of the room.
Chloe was completely gone.
