“Elena,” he said, “we opened the most recent video folder.”
Something in his expression chilled me.
“What did you find?”
“The files aren’t only recordings of your mother.”
He turned the laptop toward me.
A paused video filled the screen.
The image had been captured in the basement two nights earlier.
Julian stood beside a man in a dark overcoat.
The man’s face was partially turned away, but I recognized him immediately.
Judge Thorne.
The same man I had called for help.
On the recording, Julian handed him a thick envelope.
Then Judge Thorne looked directly toward the hidden camera and said, “Once Elena arrives, we finish what her father started.”
My mother gripped my arm.
Outside, my phone began to ring.
The caller identification showed Judge Thorne’s name.
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I came home to visit my elderly mother, but when I offered to help bathe her, she shrank back in terror