Chapter 14 - A CALL FROM CELL BLOCK 4
Nobody moved. The rotary phone rang once, twice, three times—a shrill, mechanical shriek that echoed off the high timber ceilings like an alarm in a submarine. In the darkness, the only light came from the lightning splitting the sky outside, flashing through the farmhouse windows in violent white bursts.
"Don't answer it," Ethan whispered, his hand instinctively reaching out to cover Nora’s shoulder. "Julian is playing psychological games. He wants us panicking."
"It's not Julian," Daniel said. He stood up slowly, navigated the dark hallway by memory, and lifted the heavy black receiver to his ear.
He didn't say hello. He just listened.
For ten agonizing seconds, the only sound in the house was the rain drumming against the glass. Then, Daniel’s arm stiffened. He slowly extended the receiver out toward Nora.
"It's for you," Daniel muttered, his voice hollowed out of all emotion. "It’s the state psychiatric detention ward in Bedford."
Nora’s stomach plummeted. Handing Iris gently to Ethan, she stood up on legs that felt like lead. She took the cold plastic receiver and pressed it against her ear.
A recorded operator’s voice buzzed through static: *“You have an accepted collect call from an inmate at Bedford Correctional Forensic Unit. Inmate name: Victoria Vance. Do you accept the charges?”*
"Accept," Nora whispered.
A harsh, metallic click followed, and then came the sound of shallow, ragged breathing. When the voice came through, it was not the imperious, polished purr of the high-society matriarch who had spent years looking down her nose at Nora’s thrifted dresses. It was raw, cracked, and vibrating with an unhinged intensity.
"Nora," Victoria whispered. The sound of distant steel doors slamming echoed in the background. "Listen to me very carefully. If Ethan is in the room, put the speaker on. You don't have much time."
"Why would I listen to a word you say?" Nora hissed, her fingers digging into the phone cord until her nails turned white. "You tried to break my spine on a marble floor! You tried to kill my child before she could take her first breath!"
"I tried to save you from Julian!" Victoria snarled, her voice rising into a sharp, desperate shriek that crackled through the earpiece. "You stupid, provincial girl! You thought I was the monster? You thought I cared about your father’s pathetic pride? I knew about the clause! Arthur made that clause to punish me for trying to divorce him! If you had miscarried, Julian’s claim would have remained second in line to Ethan’s! But now... now Julian has the board!"
"What are you talking about?" Nora demanded, Ethan stepping close enough to press his ear against the back of the receiver.
"Julian was never in Zurich," Victoria whispered, her breath hitching as if she were looking over her shoulder in terror. "He paid the orderlies here. He poisoned my tea three weeks ago to make me look completely incompetent for trial! He has power of attorney over the family trust now, Nora! And under state probate law, if both you and Ethan are declared unfit—or if an unfortunate accident occurs at that rotting orchard—Iris becomes Julian’s legal ward!"
"Julian wouldn't dare touch my daughter," Ethan growled into the receiver, unable to stay silent. "I will tear him apart with my bare hands."
"Oh, Ethan... my sweet, blind Ethan," Victoria laughed, a terrifying, humorless cackle that dissolved into a coughing fit. "He's not coming to the orchard to fight you like a man. Why do you think the power went out? Why do you think your gate was unlatched? He didn't drop those papers to intimidate you. He dropped them to keep your eyes on the kitchen table while his men surrounded the perimeter. Look out your second-story window, Ethan! Look at the barn!"
Ethan dropped the receiver. He sprinted through the dark toward the stairs, taking them three at a time. Nora followed, her heart pounding in her throat, the dead receiver dangling from the wall like an executed corpse.
Through the dormer window in the upper hallway, they looked out over the back forty acres.
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The ancient timber barn—filled with three generations of Montgomery family farming equipment, dry hay, and the backup generator—was engulfed in a wall of silent, roaring orange fire.
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