Chapter 6 - The Hidden Compartment
Brooke leaned casually against the bedroom doorframe, twirling the heavy iron shears with a menacing grin.
“Did you really think my brother was stupid enough to leave the real documents in an obvious safe?” she mocked loudly.
She had woken up, heard us creeping upstairs, and followed us into the bedroom trap.
“Hand over that envelope right now, Brooke,” Nora demanded, stepping bravely between me and the shears.
Brooke simply laughed, tapping the thick envelope against her chin in a taunting manner.
“Grant ordered me to burn all of this in the fireplace tomorrow morning,” she gloated.
She was so incredibly arrogant that she had no idea how thoroughly I had planned for a day exactly like this.
I looked at the envelope in her hand and realized she was holding the decoy documents I kept for insurance purposes.
I had never trusted Grant's invasive curiosity, even during the best days of our marriage.
Right before my water broke, I had quietly moved the real deed to a place he would never think to look.
I slowly backed away from the safe and leaned against a heavy, antique oak dresser.
“You can keep the envelope, Brooke, because the real deed isn't inside it,” I said with a calm, chilling smile.
Her smug expression faltered for a fraction of a second.
I reached under the bottom ridge of the dresser and pressed a hidden wooden latch.
A secret false bottom dropped open, dropping a sleek, waterproof black folder directly into my waiting hand.
Brooke’s eyes widened in sheer panic as she realized she had been completely outsmarted.
“Give me that folder right now, or I swear I will hurt you!” she screamed, lunging forward with the shears.
Nora swung her heavy metal flashlight violently, striking Brooke’s hand and sending the shears clattering to the floor.
Brooke howled in pain, clutching her bruised wrist and backing away in terror.
“We are leaving now, and if you follow us, I will break your other hand,” Nora threatened fiercely.
We rushed out of the bedroom, clutching the waterproof folder tightly against my chest.
We sprinted down the grand staircase as fast as my injured body would allow.
Just as we reached the front foyer, red and blue lights suddenly flooded the shattered front door.
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Three heavily armed police officers stood on my porch with their weapons drawn and aimed directly at us.
“Drop your weapons and put your hands on your head immediately!” the lead officer roared.
