Chapter 10 - THE UNRAVELING TAPE
Ethan turned on his heel and walked out of the library, leaving Patricia standing alone among the towering bookshelves, her hands quietly shaking as she reached for her glass of water.
Ethan didn't return to the kitchen. He walked straight down the central corridor to his private office at the rear of the estate. He unlocked the heavy steel door with a biometric thumbprint scanner and stepped inside.
The room was dark, lined with security monitors displaying live camera feeds from around the thirty-acre perimeter.
He walked behind his heavy oak desk, bypassed the primary computer terminal, and opened a concealed wall panel hidden behind a framed painting of the Texas hill country. Inside sat a secondary, closed-circuit recording drive—a dark-site system he had installed personally, completely separate from the estate's main security network.
No one knew this system existed. Not the club, not the staff, and certainly not Patricia.
Ethan pulled up the archive logs for the master wing hallway, setting the date filter to eight months ago—the night Madeline died.
His calloused fingers hovered over the keyboard.
For eight months, he had believed the police reports. He had believed the rainy road, the slick tires, the tragic loss of control. He had refused to look at the footage from that night because the pain of seeing his wife leave the house one last time was too much to bear.
Now, listening to Sophie’s quiet voice echo in his mind—She said Clara would disappear... just like Mommy did—Ethan felt a cold, terrifying clarity wash over his soul.
He pressed play.
The screen illuminated with black-and-white night-vision footage. The timestamp read 11:42 PM - OCTOBER 14.
On the screen, the door to Madeline’s private dressing room opened. Madeline stepped out, holding her car keys.
A second later, another figure stepped out from the adjacent hallway, stopping Madeline near the top of the stairs.
It was Patricia.
Ethan leaned closer to the monitor, his breathing stopping completely. On the silent video feed, Patricia was handing Madeline a small, dark object—a sealed envelope. Madeline took it, opened it, and her face instantly turned ghost-white.
Madeline didn't walk down the stairs; she ran. She ran toward the garage in a state of absolute, frantic panic.
And on the screen, as Madeline disappeared down the stairs, Patricia stood at the top of the landing, watching her leave.
Patricia wasn't crying. She wasn't chasing her.
She was smiling.
Ethan sat back in his heavy leather chair, his muscular chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths. The dark ink on his neck seemed to shift as his throat worked.
He slowly closed the wall panel, concealing the drive once more.
He stood up, walked out of his office, and made his way back up the grand spiral staircase toward the second floor. He walked past the main guest rooms, stopping outside the locked door of the children's playroom.
He knocked softly—three rhythmic taps.
"Clara," Ethan said quietly through the thick wood. "It's me."
The lock clicked instantly. The door opened, revealing Clara standing there, holding a wooden toy block, her hazel eyes filled with protective concern. Behind her, Avery and Sophie were happily building a tower on the plush rug.
Clara looked up at the massive, tattooed man standing in the doorway. She saw no anger in his eyes now—only an unshakeable, terrifying purpose.
"Are they okay?" Clara whispered.
Ethan looked past her at his daughters, then brought his dark gaze back to Clara’s soft, honest face.
"They're safe," Ethan said raspy tone softly. "And you're not going anywhere, Clara. Not today. Not ever."
Clara stared at him, a soft breath releasing from her lips as a wave of relief washed over her features.
Ethan turned his head slightly, looking back down the long, sunlit staircase toward the main floor where Patricia was hidden.
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The game was no longer about motorcycle clubs, weapons shipments, or territorial wars.
The war was now inside his own house. And Ethan Whitaker was about to hunt.
