Chapter 8 - THE WHISPER IN THE NIGHT
By 2:00 AM, the storm outside had intensified, rain hammering violently against the suburban roofline.
Ethan didn't sleep. He sat in a high-backed armchair positioned inside Noah and Lily’s bedroom, his back straight, his eyes fixed on the locked bedroom door. Across the room, Lily lay tucked under her blanket, clutching her small stuffed rabbit, her breathing soft and rhythmic. Noah lay beside her, one arm thrown protectively over his little sister's shoulders.
A quiet, rhythmic tap... tap... tap... sounded against the second-floor windowpane.
Ethan stood up instantly, stepping quietly across the carpeted floor. He pulled the curtain back an inch.
Outside on the wet lawn, framed by the glare of a passing streetlight, sat a black unmarked SUV with tinted windows. The engine was idling quietly, dark exhaust curling into the rainy air.
Ethan’s jaw tightened. Vanessa wasn't working alone. She had brought outside security—or fixers—to monitor the perimeter of the house, ensuring Ethan couldn't take the children and leave before the morning probate filing.
He stepped back from the window, pulling his phone from his dark jeans. He dialed a number he hadn't called in three years.
"Marcus," Ethan spoke softly into the receiver when the call connected on the second ring. "It's Ethan."
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A quiet, gravelly voice answered on the line. "Ethan. It's late. What's wrong?"
"I need Marcus Miller's legal team at the County Probate Court at 8:00 AM," Ethan said, his voice flat as iron. "And I need a forensic medical examiner sent to my home. Now."
