Chapter 1 - THE MOVING SUITCASEThe first sound Ethan Mercer heard when he entered his Connecticut mansion was a weak pounding from the drawing room.
At first, he thought something had fallen from a shelf.
Then the pounding came again.
Three frightened knocks.
A pause.
Then three more.
Ethan dropped his briefcase beside the front door.
“Sophie?”
The mansion remained silent.
None of the staff appeared.
The grandfather clock beside the staircase had stopped at four seventeen.
The security panel near the entrance was dark.
Ethan moved toward the drawing room and saw a large black hard-shell suitcase lying between the fireplace and the window.
The case trembled.
A small hand struck the inside.
“Daddy?”
Ethan’s heart nearly stopped.
He rushed across the room.
“Sophie!”
“Open it before she comes back.”
His six-year-old daughter sounded frightened, but her voice was clear.
“Keep talking to me.”
Ethan pulled at the metal clasps.
A small external lock had been fastened through both zipper handles.
He searched his pockets for something strong enough to break it.
His hands were shaking too badly to work properly.
“Daddy, hurry.”
“I’m right here.”
Ethan grabbed the iron poker from beside the fireplace.
He forced its narrow tip through the lock and twisted until the metal snapped.
The case opened.
Sophie was curled safely inside, fully conscious and breathing normally.
Her cheeks were wet with tears.
She clutched an old photograph of her late mother against her chest.
Ethan lifted her carefully into his arms.
She wrapped both arms around his neck.
“She said Mom’s room belongs to someone else now.”
“Who said that?”
Sophie looked toward the grand staircase.
Footsteps sounded above them.
Celeste Mercer appeared at the top of the stairs.
She was wearing a silk traveling dress beneath an open coat.
Two passports and several airline tickets were clutched in her hand.
Behind her stood a partially dressed man Ethan recognized as Richard Vale, Celeste’s supposed cousin.
Celeste saw the broken suitcase.
Everything fell from her hands.
Passports slid across the marble.
Airline tickets fluttered down the steps.
One landed near Ethan’s shoe.
The passenger’s name was printed in bold black letters.
SOPHIE MERCER.
Ethan’s arms tightened around his daughter.
“Where were you taking my child?”
Celeste stared at the open case.
Richard slowly backed toward the upstairs hallway.
Sophie pulled away just enough to hold up her mother’s photograph.
“Mom wrote something behind this before she went to heaven.”
Ethan turned the picture over.
The handwriting belonged to his late wife, Anna.
May you like
The first sentence made his blood run cold.
If Celeste ever tries to take Sophie out of the country, do not call the police until you open Locker 317.
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