Chapter 7 - The Velvet Curtain
Richard’s polished shoes stopped two feet from where Rachel knelt concealed beneath the drape.
The scent of his expensive cologne—cloves and dry cedar—hung heavy in the stagnant air of the study.
Rachel didn't breathe.
She didn't let her eyelids blink.
She clamped her teeth together so hard she felt the enamel grind against her molars.
Richard stood at the edge of the desk for what felt like an eternity.
He reached down, picking up the gold fountain pen, and Rachel heard the scratch of metal against heavy paper.
He was making a note in his personal desk calendar.
He paused.
His shoes shifted on the Persian wool.
Rachel saw his hand reach down toward the drawer she had just locked.
He touched the brass pull.
He rattled it gently.
The lock held firm.
Richard let out a soft, satisfied grunt—the sound of an auditor confirming that the safe was secure.
He turned on his heel and walked toward the primary mahogany door leading to the foyer.
The door opened, squeaked faintly on its brass hinges, and clicked shut behind him.
Rachel waited for ten agonizing seconds.
Then she heard his footsteps moving toward the kitchen, followed by the clatter of a saucepan on the stove.
He was preparing his noon broth.
Rachel slipped out from behind the velvet drapes like a shadow escaping a tomb.
She stepped across the Persian rug, slipped through the narrow pantry door, and glided through the back hallway.
She took the stairs two at a time, moving with ghost-like silence until she reached the guest room.
She closed the door behind her and turned the brass lock.
She leaned against the wood, her whole body shaking violently as the adrenaline crashed through her veins.
Sophie was still sitting on the center of the bed, her yellow rain boots lying on the rug where Rachel had left them.
The little girl looked up, holding her sketch pad.
“Mommy, look,” Sophie said proudly.
Rachel stumbled across the room and dropped onto the edge of the mattress.
She looked at the paper.
Sophie had drawn another house.
This one was different.
The walls were bright sky blue.
There was a small chimney puffing little rings of gray smoke into the air.
And right in the center of the blue wall was a giant, bright yellow door with a tiny purple circle for the knob.
Beside the door, Sophie had drawn two stick figures holding hands: one tall, one small.
Both figures were smiling with giant, looping red smiles.
Rachel stared at the drawing, a single tear escaping her eye and rolling down her cheek.
“It’s beautiful, bug,” Rachel whispered, her voice choking on the words.
“You gave it a door,” she added, running her finger over the yellow wax.
“A blue knob,” Sophie said, pointing her crayon at the purple circle. “Like you told me.”
Rachel pulled her daughter into her chest, pressing her face into the soft warmth of Sophie’s neck.
She didn't have until next week.
She didn't even have until Friday.
Richard’s emergency hearing was scheduled for Friday morning at nine o’clock.
Once those papers were served by a sheriff’s deputy, Rachel would be legally prohibited from removing Sophie from the county.
Richard would claim jurisdiction.
He would point to her lack of independent housing, her lack of immediate income, and her broken marriage.
He would use his forty years of legal connections in this town to crush her before she even spoke a word to a judge.
She had to leave tonight.
She reached into her cardigan, pulling out the two thick white envelopes.
She counted the cash with shaking, frantic fingers.
Five hundred from the glove box.
Four hundred and thirty from the lockbox.
Nine hundred and thirty dollars in crisp bills.
It was enough for the deposit Henderson had asked for at the garden apartments.
Henderson had said three hundred would hold the unit, and nineteen hundred would let her move in today.
She was still short nearly a thousand dollars.
Where could she get nine hundred and seventy dollars in cash before five o’clock this evening?
Her bank account had two hundred and fourteen dollars.
That left her seven hundred and fifty-six dollars short of freedom.
She looked at her wrist.
Her mother’s gold vintage wristwatch—the only item Richard had let her keep after Eleanor was institutionalized.
The watch had an eighteen-karat gold mesh band and six tiny diamonds set around the bezel.
It was the last piece of her mother she possessed.
Richard had told her a hundred times that the watch was Hale family heirloom property, not hers to dispose of.
Rachel unclasped the gold band from her wrist, feeling the cold metal settle into her palm.
“Mom would want us to have a door,” Rachel whispered into the silence of the room.
She slipped the watch into her pocket alongside the cash envelopes.
She had to move fast.
She had to get out of the house, secure the lease, get the keys, and come back for Sophie before Richard suspected anything.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway outside.
The shadow fell beneath the door.
Rachel instantly shoved the envelopes and the gold watch under the mattress, pulling Sophie’s sketch pad onto her lap.
A sharp, double knock rattled the wood.
“Rachel.”
Her father’s voice was as cold and sharp as an icicle.
“Yes, Dad?” Rachel called out, keeping her voice completely calm and level.
The doorknob rattled.
Richard tested the lock.
When it didn't turn, his tone dropped into immediate hostility.
“Why is this door locked?”
Rachel stood up, walked to the door, and unlocked it with a deliberate, loud click.
She pulled it open, standing square in the threshold to block his view of the bed.
“Sophie was falling asleep, Dad,” she said, looking straight into his gray, accusing eyes. “I didn't want the hallway drafts waking her.”
Richard’s gaze drifted past her shoulder, scanning the room like a forensic inspector searching for contraband.
His eyes landed on the bed, where Sophie was staring at him with wide, silent terror.
“You have an envelope delivered from the county clerk’s office,” Richard said, holding up a long white business mailer.
Rachel felt her breath catch in her throat.
The custody petition.
He was having it delivered to establish formal legal notice on the record.
“What is it?” she asked, feigning ignorance.
“Administrative filings regarding your local residency status,” Richard said smoothly, not handing it to her.
He tucked the letter into his own breast pocket, tapping the wool fabric twice with his knuckles.
“I will review the legalities with you over dinner tonight at six.”
“Be downstairs at five-thirty to assist with the roast.”
“Yes, Dad,” Rachel said, lowering her eyes just enough to give him the illusion of total obedience.
Richard stared at her for two more seconds, searching for the defiance he had sensed that morning.
Finding only compliance, he turned and walked down the hallway toward the stairs.
Rachel closed the door, locked it, and leaned her forehead against the wood.
Six o’clock was dinner.
The hearing was Friday.
May you like
Her window of survival was five hours long.
If she was not out of this house with Sophie by five-thirty tonight, they would never leave at all.
