Chapter 6: The Room Beneath the Workshop
The garage door exploded inward.
Metal screamed against metal.
A shower of dust and rust-filled air rushed through the workshop, and I stumbled backward, still gripping Eric’s hand.
For one frozen second, nobody moved.
Then Daniel shouted, “Down!””
We dropped.
Something slammed into the wall above us.
I heard Eric curse.
Mr. Lawson crawled toward the workbench.
“There's a side exit!””
“Where?”” I shouted.
“Behind the storage room!””
Another impact hit the garage door.
This time, it buckled halfway open.
A shadow appeared through the gap.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Then another shadow behind him.
Eric grabbed the box from the workbench.
“Move!””
We ran.
I didn't even think about the documents.
I only thought about getting out.
We rushed through the storage room while metal crashed behind us.
Daniel shoved aside an old cabinet and revealed a narrow wooden door.
“You knew about this?””
Eric's voice was furious.
“Later!””
Daniel pushed it open.
Cold air hit my face.
We stumbled into a dark corridor beneath the workshop.
I stopped.
“What is this?””
No one answered.
The corridor stretched beneath the building.
Concrete walls.
Bare pipes.
A single row of dim emergency lights.
Mr. Lawson pulled the door shut behind us.
A second later, something struck it from the other side.
He locked three separate bolts.
Eric stared at him.
“Did Dad build this?””
“No.””
Mr. Lawson looked toward the corridor.
“Your grandfather did.””
I almost laughed.
Nothing about this day made sense anymore.
My grandfather had died when I was a toddler.
I barely remembered him.
“Why would he need a tunnel?””
Mr. Lawson's expression was grim.
“It wasn't built as a tunnel.””
“Then what is it?””
“A records vault.””
Eric looked down at the black box in his hands.
“Dad's hidden records.””
“Some of them.””
Daniel pointed deeper into the corridor.
“There's another room.””
“You've been here before?”” Eric asked.
“Once.””
“When?””
“Twenty years ago.””
“Why?””
Daniel didn't answer.
Eric grabbed him by the collar.
“What were you doing down here twenty years ago?””
Daniel's eyes met his.
“Looking for Clara.””
Eric released him.
“Start talking.””
Daniel straightened his coat.
“Your father had received information that someone was searching for her. He believed the original records were no longer safe in the house.””
“So he moved them here.””
“Yes.””
“Everything?””
“No.””
“What stayed behind?””
“Copies.””
I remembered the hidden room.
“The red suit.””
“Yes.””
“And the letters.””
“Yes.””
Eric shook his head.
“So Dad created a backup plan.””
Daniel nodded.
“Your father had several.””
We began walking.
The farther we went, the colder it became.
I wrapped my arms around myself.
“What if Thomas gets inside?””
“He won't,” Mr. Lawson said.
“You sound sure.””
“There are three entrances.””
“Three?””
“And only one is visible.””
He stopped.
We stood in front of a solid concrete wall.
I stared.
“There's nothing here.””
Mr. Lawson reached into his pocket.
He took out a small key.
He inserted it into a crack I couldn't even see.
A section of wall clicked.
Then slid inward.
Behind it was a room.
No larger than a bedroom.
But every wall was covered with file boxes.
Dozens.
Maybe hundreds.
Dates.
Names.
Company records.
Photographs.
Bank statements.
Court documents.
And in the center stood a metal table.
On it was another envelope.
My name was written across the front.
Again.
I stared at it.
“How many letters did Dad write?””
Mr. Lawson's voice was soft.
“Enough to make sure you couldn't ignore him.””
Eric walked to the table.
He picked up the envelope.
There was no hesitation this time.
He opened it.
Inside was a single page.
Sarah,
If you have found this room, then my first fear was correct.
Thomas is alive.
You need to understand something before you read anything else.
Your uncle was not the person I feared most.
I stared at the words.
Eric read over my shoulder.
“Who was he afraid of?””
He continued.
Thomas was greedy.
Greed makes people predictable.
The danger came from the man who taught him what to steal.
Richard Mercer.
Daniel stepped back.
“My father.””
Eric looked at him.
“He's dead.””
“So is Thomas,” I said.
Daniel shook his head.
“My father died.””
He pointed at the letter.
“That doesn't mean his work died with him.””
I read the next paragraph.
Richard Mercer created the financial network.
Thomas helped operate it.
I discovered them in 1997.
Clara discovered something else.
She saw Richard give Thomas a ledger.
She also saw a third person.
Someone I never identified.
My chest tightened.
A third person.
Dad continued.
That third person was the reason I separated Clara from the family.
Not because I believed she was dangerous.
Because I believed whoever was behind Richard and Thomas would eventually come for her.
I stopped reading.
“Who was it?””
Eric took the page.
He read.
Your mother knew.
I stared at him.
“No.””
Mom?
My hands started shaking.
Dad had lied about Mom.
The letter was explicit.
She knew about Clara.
She knew about the ledger.
And she knew about the third person.
But Dad had kept her silent.
I looked at Mr. Lawson.
“You knew.””
He nodded.
“Your mother was involved?””
“Not in the fraud.””
“Then what?””
“She helped your father hide Clara.””
I felt dizzy.
“She helped?””
“Yes.””
“Then why did Dad make me believe Mom barely remembered her?””
Mr. Lawson's face tightened.
“Because your mother wanted it that way.””
I looked at him.
“Why?””
“She was protecting you.””
“From what?””
He didn't answer.
Eric did.
“From Thomas.””
I turned.
“What?””
Eric pointed toward the documents.
“Look.””
He had found an old photograph.
Mom.
Dad.
Thomas.
And Clara.
The date was written on the back.
September 26, 1997.
Three days before Clara disappeared.
Everyone was smiling.
But on the far edge of the photograph, there was someone else.
A blurred man standing beside a car.
I squinted.
“Can you tell who that is?””
Daniel stepped closer.
His expression changed instantly.
“No.””
I looked at him.
“You know him.””
“No.””
“You recognize him.””
Daniel swallowed.
“My father used to drive that car.””
I stared at the photograph.
“Then that's Richard.””
“Yes.””
“Then who is the third person?””
Daniel leaned closer.
He went completely still.
“What?””
He didn't respond.
Eric grabbed the photograph.
“Who is it?””
Daniel pointed.
“Your mother.””
I looked again.
The person beside the car was a woman.
Not a man.
Mom.
But that made no sense.
She was standing several feet away from Dad.
Looking toward someone outside the frame.
She looked terrified.
Mr. Lawson saw it too.
He whispered, “I never saw this picture.””
Eric turned toward him.
“Then Dad kept it from you.””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“I don't know.””
We searched the boxes.
Minutes passed.
Maybe an hour.
I lost track.
We found documents from 1991.
1992.
1995.
1997.
2001.
2008.
2014.
Each year another layer of the mystery.
Dad had continued tracing money long after the company recovered.
He had tracked shell companies across several states.
He had made handwritten notes beside names.
Some were crossed out.
Others had question marks.
Then Eric pulled out a folder marked:
PROJECT RED.
I stared at it.
“The suit.””
“Yes.””
He opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
Three suits hanging inside the hidden closet.
Two black.
One red.
Beneath the photograph was a handwritten note.
The red suit is not for mourning.
It is for recognition.
I read it twice.
Eric looked at Mr. Lawson.
“What does recognition mean?””
The attorney didn't answer.
I pulled out another page.
The answer was there.
The red suit was part of a signal system Dad had created with Clara.
Three colors.
Black meant danger.
Gray meant delay.
Red meant come home.
My breath caught.
“The suit wasn't for Eric.””
Everyone looked at me.
I pointed to the page.
“It was Clara's signal.””
Eric frowned.
“But Dad left it for me.””
“Because he wanted you to use it.””
Daniel's expression changed.
“To call her.””
I nodded.
Eric shook his head.
“How?””
I turned the page.
The final instruction was simple.
When the red suit is worn, contact the number below.
The number was unfamiliar.
I looked at Mr. Lawson.
“You knew about this?””
“No.””
He looked genuinely stunned.
Eric pulled out his phone.
“I'm calling.””
Daniel grabbed his wrist.
“Wait.””
“Why?””
“Because we don't know who will answer.””
Eric pulled away.
“We already know Thomas is alive.””
“That isn't the problem.””
Daniel looked at the number.
“Your father may have used a relay.””
“What does that mean?””
“The person answering may not be Clara.””
“Then how do we know?””
“He would ask a question only Clara could answer.””
Eric stared at him.
“What question?””
Daniel looked at Mr. Lawson.
The attorney answered.
“Ask her what happened to the red balloon.””
My heart stopped.
That memory.
The little hand.
The voice.
Don't let go.
Eric looked at me.
“You remember.””
I nodded slowly.
“Barely.””
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then someone answered.
A woman's voice.
“Hello?””
Eric said nothing.
The woman spoke again.
“Who's this?””
Eric swallowed.
“I'm looking for Claire Bennett.””
Silence.
Then:
“Why?””
He looked at us.
Mr. Lawson nodded.
Eric asked the question.
“What happened to the red balloon?””
There was a long silence.
Then the woman's breathing changed.
She whispered,
“It wasn't a balloon.””
I felt my heart slam against my ribs.
Eric’s eyes widened.
The woman continued.
“It was a warning.””
Mr. Lawson covered his mouth.
The woman said,
“Who gave you the red suit?””
Eric answered.
“My father.””
A sharp breath.
Then the woman said something that changed everything.
“Your father is dead, isn't he?””
“Yes.””
“I’m sorry.””
“Are you Clara?””
Silence.
Then:
“My name hasn't been Clara for a very long time.””
Eric closed his eyes.
“Where are you?””
“I can't tell you.””
“Why?””
“Because your father was right.””
“About what?””
“That someone would come for me.””
Eric glanced at Daniel.
“Thomas?””
“No.””
The woman's voice became quieter.
“Thomas was only the messenger.””
My blood turned cold.
“Then who?””
She didn't answer.
Instead, she asked,
“Is Sarah with you?””
I grabbed the phone from Eric.
“Yes.””
The woman went silent.
Then she whispered my name.
“Sarah.””
I nearly dropped the phone.
“How do you know me?””
“I remember you.””
I felt tears in my eyes.
“You were little.””
“I was seven.””
“You held my hand.””
I couldn't speak.
She continued.
“You were wearing a yellow raincoat.””
The room disappeared.
I remembered.
Everything.
A basement.
A suitcase.
Mom crying.
Dad shouting.
A little girl pulling me toward a car.
Me holding her hand.
A red balloon tied to the gate.
And Dad saying,
“Sarah, let go.””
I had believed he was protecting me.
But I hadn't let go.
Someone had pulled Clara away.
I screamed.
I screamed until my throat hurt.
Then someone covered my mouth.
Someone whispered that if I told anyone, they would take Mom next.
I remembered.
All of it.
I sank into the chair.
Eric caught me.
“You remember?””
I nodded.
“I remember her.””
The phone crackled.
Clara said softly,
“You weren't supposed to.””
I looked at Eric.
“Why?””
“Because your father altered the memory he wanted you to have.””
I stared at the phone.
“What happened that night?””
Clara's voice trembled.
“Dad discovered who was behind everything.””
“Who?””
“He was going to expose them.””
“Then why didn't he?””
“Because he made a deal.””
“With Thomas?””
“No.””
“Richard?””
“No.””
I heard her inhale.
“With the third person.””
My pulse raced.
“Who was it?””
Clara didn't answer.
Instead she said,
“You have to leave the workshop.””
“Why?””
“Because they know you're there.””
Eric looked toward the hidden door.
“How?””
Clara's voice became urgent.
“Because I told someone where the room was.””
I froze.
“What?””
“I had to.””
“Who?””
A pause.
Then:
“Your mother.””
My breath stopped.
“Mom?””
“She’s not who you think she is.””
The phone went dead.
Eric stared at the screen.
I looked at Mr. Lawson.
He couldn't meet my eyes.
“Call her,” I said.
Eric looked at me.
“Sarah—”
“Call Mom.””
He dialed.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
No answer.
Then a text appeared.
From Mom.
Do not come home.
Another message arrived.
Tell Eric to burn the red suit.
Then a third.
He must never find out what happened in 1997.
I stared at the screen.
Eric read the messages over my shoulder.
Neither of us spoke.
Then footsteps echoed somewhere above us.
Someone had entered the workshop.
Daniel reached for the light switch.
“Everyone stay quiet.””
We listened.
The footsteps moved slowly across the floor.
A door opened upstairs.
Someone called out.
“Mr. Lawson?””
The attorney's face changed.
I knew that voice.
It was our family minister.
The same man who had stood at Dad's funeral that morning.
The same man who had prayed over Dad's casket.
He was calling my name.
“Sarah?””
Eric looked at me.
The footsteps stopped directly above us.
Then the voice said,
“Your father wanted you to know that Clara is not your sister.””
Silence.
I felt every muscle in my body tense.
May you like
He continued.
“She's your mother.””
