The Sinclair Heir

by Scott, Eliot

  Emily is now the owner of the land, the aquifer, and the oil. And Grady’s signature cements this in place even more!

  “Why? Why didn’t I read the document myself last night?” I choke out, hardly able to breathe as I grow angry over my own stupidity.

  Why did I trust Alex? How easily I’ve let down my guard and fallen into old patterns. I’ve been so careless. I let him meet Emily. And he’s gone—not responding—and my daughter is not here with me. Are they together? Is all of this another Sinclair set up?

  I’m spiraling. Desperate to figure out where Alex is exactly, I open the Find My iPhone App, and plug in Alex’s email as well as the passwords he’s given me to get on the internet here at the house, hoping they will match.

  I’m in quickly—it’s working. My heart actually stops beating when I see the location of Alex’s phone.

  He’s back at the penthouse.

  He’s with Grady.

  How long has he been there? Did he fuck me, lie to me, and leave laughing the moment I fell asleep? Did he leave to meet up with Grady and gloat over how easy I was to get this time?

  “No. No. No!” I cry out, pushing my phone away along the counter and hating the thoughts firing through my head. This game, his father’s game—it’s poisoned me against faith.

  Believe in him, I remind myself. Alex is good. Maybe he saw what I saw on the deed and he went to fix everything, only he accidentally dropped the deed as he drove away. Yes. That’s more like him.

  My stomach heaves with more nausea as fear for Emily and my doubts rush in harder. Alex convinced me to marry him so quickly—and maybe he was lying the whole time. Just like back in high school. Maybe, after he found out about Emily, he had to make sure he could show the world that Emily was also legally his so he—the Sinclair’s—could keep their holdings.

  So they could keep her!

  I squeeze my eyes shut tightly at that last thought. My mind is betraying me, falling into a dangerous habit that comes along with the name Sinclair.

  I refuse to believe this—that’s not who Alex is.

  As if the universe wanted me to snap out of my thoughts, the coffee machine buzzes just as the kitchen television screen shows the scene of a familiar building. It’s the penthouse building, and people are running in every direction, and there’s…smoke? In the background of the reporter’s shot, I see Alex’s car, and my heart flattens.

  I turn the volume up just in time to hear the reporter say, “The entire top two floors of the building are gone. More like obliterated. From where I’m standing, John, it looks like a complete loss here at the Sinclair’s premiere office and luxury lofts property. The entire street has been blocked off, and until all gas lines in the area can be checked, a five-mile radius has been evacuated as a precautionary measure. No one is yet certain as to what’s caused this major explosion.”

  My eyes lock onto the shot and what looks like a half-ton of debris covering Alex’s black Tahoe—the car we’re supposed to drive away in today.

  I whimper, losing my breath in bursts. “No, no, no, no…this is not real…” The words blubber from my lips.

  I flip stations feverishly, hoping to see conflicting news somewhere else. I’m going mad, the camera shots are always the same, the building blown to bits in every frame. Alex’s car always parked right where it shouldn’t be.

  I flip back to the first station in time to hear something that begins hopeful. “Hold on. Hold on. I’m getting some more breaking news.”

  I grip the counter’s edge so hard that several of my nails bend and snap along the surface.

  “In addition to this explosion that has shut down the entire Tacoma Downtown area, we have just received reports that a forest fire has broken out near the lodge that was once owned by the direct descendant of our town’s founding father, Michael Sinclair. As most of you know, it’s the largest stretch of undeveloped property in the Pacific Northwest, thousands of acres of woods and open space, leading all the way to the sound. And that property is owned by the same person who also owns this destroyed building behind me.”

  The man smiles like this is good news, not bad, before continuing. “Reports say the fire is located at the remotest edge of Sinclair Lake, I’ve been told, and the entire area seems to be under threat of being ravaged by it. High winds are not cooperating. We haven’t been able to reach Alex Sinclair or his brother, Grady Sinclair, for comment yet, but several authorities are racing to the fire scene now. We also have our chopper on the way to help determine the scope of this second fire. We’ll bring you more on that when it’s available.”

  My stomach roils, and I rush to the sink, vomiting up disbelief, acid and sheer terror.

  Because I feel like I’m about to pass out, I flip the faucet on high and scoop water into my mouth, spitting it out over and over again while I reach with my hand to turn up the volume in case I hear him say that he was wrong, but instead the footage flips back into the indoor news team and a woman, who’s shaking her head in fake concern. “As you all may remember, Michael Sinclair was loved by nearly all of Tacoma, and less than two months ago, he was found dead of a gunshot wound to his head. It’s hard not to think that with this suspicious downtown explosion plus the fire located on Sinclair lands?” She arches her brow in a well-practiced look at the camera. “There is speculation that this company—or this family—is possibly somehow under attack.”

  The dark-haired man on the news team answers her. “Authorities haven’t said it for certain yet, Candace, but it does smell like foul play. We have been told to inform everyone living, hiking or camping in the wooded area to please evacuate as quickly as possible. The severe dry conditions plus today’s winds have already made the size of this fire spread to six hundred acres.”

  Those words stick in my head hard. Foul play. Foul play…but who’s playing the game? Is it Alex? Is it Grady? Did May blow up her own two sons in that penthouse—and—my God! There’s a fire—I have to get to Emily! I have to get us out of here.

  My knees wobble but I head directly toward Alex’s office as I dial Shelly fast. Of course she doesn’t pick up, so I leave a message.

  “Shelly. You and Walt need to head down the path.” A choked sob escapes as I say what I’m sure they’re already running from. “There’s a fire. Please call me if you can. I need to know you’re okay. Hurry!”

  I stop to grab the loaded pistol Alex keeps in his office closet and shove it in my pocket, and as I’m running out the door, I start coming up with new reasons for why no one has answered me.

  They’re all dead. That’s the harshest thought. At the top of the pathway where the forest grows thick and the trail leading to the lodge goes into a single track, I’m horrified that I haven’t connected with anyone on the path, but my phone finally buzzes and rings in my hand.

  I’m so startled that I nearly drop it. When I connect I hear Emily’s sweet little voice on the other end. “Mommy? There’s a fire. A big fire. Are you coming?”

  I pull in a full breath. She’s alive—she’s scared, but she’s alive. It takes everything I have to sound normal, which I’m sure I don’t at all. I feel the vibrations in my words. “Baby. I’m coming. Where are you love? Are you on the trail heading back to the house?”

  “No. The fire got too big. We went the other way. To the lake. I want you to come though.” Her voice sounds tremulous, like she’s about to cry but being very brave.

  “I’m coming. I am,” I say. “Just tell me where you are.” I start jogging again up the trail and in the direction of the smoke, because it’s all I can do. “Can I speak to Aunt Shelly or Walt?”

  “You can’t. Aunt Shelly’s not here. She and uncle Walt got locked in, and they told me I had to go. They told me I had to be very sneaky and fast. Aunt Shelly put her phone into my pocket. I’m calling because we’re finally safe now.”

  I stop running again and start to tremble uncontrollably, taking all of my strength to keep myself from screaming at her. “What do you mean we,
sweetie? Are you with…Daddy?”

  “We ran to a boat. To the lake where there is water because water puts out fires. That’s the safest place to go, right?”

  “You’re right baby. That’s very good thinking.” As I pick up my steady pace, the air around me begins to swirl with thick smoke, and though I can’t see any flames, I can feel a shift in the air—the heat of it—the way it’s swirling and making me cough. I sense the actual fire must be close now.

  “Who are you with, Emily?” I ask firmly. “I need to speak to an adult.”

  “I’m with Nana, but she can’t talk. She’s sleeping. She said we had to run and hide, and the running made her very dizzy. Grandfather was there, and he’s not nice like Nana is nice.”

  “Grandfather…?” I stumble and sink to my knees, staring at the ever-blackening sky as cracks in my chest break open wide.

  Grandfather!

  As I see flames cresting trees a quarter of a mile ahead of me, I’m broken wide open at this information. I wonder if I’m dead and in hell. But it’s worse than that. I’m alive and I’m in hell.

  As huge chunks of ash rain down around me, all of the puzzle pieces fall into place.

  Michael Sinclair is alive. He’s faked his death, and now has blown up his own sons because of the feud. Because of greed. Because he always wins.

  Only…it’s more than that. I’m certain now that Alex and Grady are dead. Blown up so big that no one will ever find one shred of them left. No evidence or a trace that any of it existed at all.

  Erased.

  From the sounds of what Emily’s just said, May must have been beaten and could be near death too. Walt, and my Aunt Shelly, are burning up in the fire that’s so huge that no one will ever find their bodies either. Which means, if this is all true, I’m going to die next. Because this whole time, from the funeral all the way to this moment, I’ve been walking through a classic Sinclair set up, and Alex and I—even Grady this time around—fell for it.

  If the deed said descendants on it all of this time, then Michael Sinclair’s known about Emily—probably for years. And, like my entire four years of high school, he’s been planning this and playing us like fools. He set up his dominoes perfectly for today, and he’s somewhere nearby watching them all fall down, just so he can get his hands on my daughter.

  I feel Alex’s pistol, heavy and hard in my pocket, and I take it out and yank out the clip to count the bullets.

  Eight. I think. Eight shots.

  I shove the clip back in, repocket the pistol, and swallow down my tears hard as I make my voice as clear as a bell. “Tell me what happened, can you do that Emily? What happened at the hunting lodge?”

  Emily’s voice stays calm, which helps me stay calm.

  “Grandfather woke me up when it was still dark. He said he wanted to see my face. When Aunt Shelly tried to make it so he couldn’t touch me, he hit Uncle Walt and Aunt Shelly and locked them in this basement place in the hunting lodge. And he even hit Nana…hard. She tried to protect me.”

  “I’m so sorry you had to see all of that. Did he hit you?” I bite into my tongue to ground myself and force the cries down my throat so Emily doesn’t hear them.

  “No. But he scared me. He said so many bad things I didn’t understand about Daddy. He was pouring stinky stuff out of a big plastic can all over the room, getting everything wet. And then he lit a match and the stuff he was pouring caught the couch on fire. He told Nana to take me in the car while he finished up, but Nana didn’t take me to a car. Instead she and I held hands really tight, and we ran away toward the lake instead. She said it was a good place to go if there was going to be a fire. And Mommy. The whole lodge was burning. I had to help Nana walk at the end because she was falling down. And then she fell into the boat but couldn’t sit up. She said she was really dizzy. Before she fell asleep, Nana and I spread out a big tarp to hide under. I’m not supposed to move or peek out one bit. Is that right Mommy? I want to wake her up and ask again, but she’s breathing funny. I’m afraid I’ll hurt her. And she’s bleeding on her head.”

  It’s all I can do not to start bawling while pulling out my hair. Somehow, I keep it together. “Nana’s right. Stay under the tarp, and do not look out. Please try to leave Nana sleeping for now. I think it would be bad to try to wake her up anymore. Promise? For now…you just curl up and hug your knees and wait for me. If you hear my voice calling your name you come out. If you hear Grandfather’s voice calling for you, or if you hear someone else say your name, even if they say they’re the police, you stay hidden. Do you hear me?”

  “P-p-promise.” Emily says, sounding like she’s about to break. “But—what if it’s Daddy? Can I come out for him?” She whispers, all tears now.

  “Only my voice, Emily, because you know it the best,” I direct her. The sound of her small sobs nearly crumbling my soul.

  “Don’t cry, love. That might disturb Nana, and sleep is what she needs to get better. I’m walking to the lake now, and I’ll be able to help her. Don’t you worry, okay? It’s all going to be fine,” I lie, as I look up at the black, smoke-filled sky trying not to cough as the heated, debris-filled air closes up my lungs. I manage to keep my voice totally light while wondering what kinds of horrors my daughter saw at the hands of Michael Sinclair today. What horrors she won’t be able to forget.

  Unfortunately, I don’t know what May’s intentions are. It sounds like Michael Sinclair hit his wife hard enough to make her black out. Or it could be the smoke. But I’ve learned the hard way that physical violence is perfectly normal for him, and he doesn’t hesitate to hurt his family.

  Ha! Family. What kind of father fakes a death?

  I’ve also learned that, bleeding or not, horrific injuries don’t mean May Sinclair has stopped participating in her husband’s evil plan. For now, the only thing I can assume for certain is she wanted to get away from the fire. There’s a good chance she’s been tasked to keep Emily alive and draw me into a trap. I don’t have a way to confirm if May’s faking that she’s hurt or not. For all I know the woman is listening in and helping her husband track my location as well as Emily’s right this very minute.

  I think of the deed. I piece together what Emily’s said to me, and while my daughter cries softly into the phone, I’m making my way down to the shore, uncaring that branches have scratched my face and my legs. I just want to get some sort of sightline on her. “Mommy, are you still there?”

  I answer, shoving through the last of the bushes keeping me from seeing the lake. “Yes, baby. I’m close. Very close. Stay strong, okay?”

  “Okay. Do you see me?” She asks.

  “Almost,” I lie, just in case Michael Sinclair or someone he’s hired is listening in. I spot a lone canoe drifting into the middle of the glassy lake. Paranoid as hell now, I whip around, my eyes scanning for any movement behind me in case Mr. Sinclair has been watching me this whole time, luring me out into the open would be so like him.

  In an instant, I realize the text messages sent to me that made my gut feel like something was wrong were never from Aunt Shelly at all. He was probably texting me all night long. Fuck, that evil man was probably setting up explosives inside the penthouse while Alex and I were there last night!

  I stare at the bobbing boat, praying that May’s not planning to hurt my daughter while shoving back images of Alex burning up in an explosion.

  I swallow down the despair, and the self-hate for doubting my husband’s intentions for even one second. A sick thought rolls through my mind over and over.

  Will Emily watch me die today?

  The smoke plume that’s rising bigger and bigger now looks like World War III has erupted as the fire gobbles up this beautiful land. It’s erasing the evidence of Michael Sinclair’s murders.

  It’s erasing us all.

  As if I’ve called the man to me on cue, I hear rustling in the brush above me, following the bush-wack trail of broken branches and upturned earth that I’ve just made as I tore through the
woods to get to the shoreline.

  Lowering my voice, I duck behind a rock and shove myself into an undercut indentation that’s been carved out by an animal. I wedge my body under it, hiding myself the best I can. “I’m going to ask you to do something crazy now Emily. Something that will not sound right to you.”

  “What?”

  “I need you hang up. You need to hang up now.”

  “I don’t want to, Mommy. How will I talk to you?” Her fragile voice is raw with tears.

  “You won’t need to. I can see you. I’m almost there, but if we’re talking someone might hear. Please Emily. The phone is dangerous for us. And you can’t call me back, okay?”

  “Okay,” she says through a trembling sob.”But wait.”

  “What?”

  “I love you, Mommy.”

  The rustling in the brush above me grows closer. I pray it’s only an animal running from the fire. I pray for a miracle.

  “I love you too, Emily,” I say clearly, despite the danger of it—because God help me, my little girl. What if this is the last time I’m allowed to say this to her. What if…

  “I’ll be right there,” I add, more as a pep talk to myself, shoving my crippling panic away. “Stay hidden. Now. Hang up. Please…do it, Em, and whatever you do don’t call me back.”

  She hangs up, and because I know she won’t be able to resist calling me back in seconds, I power down my phone.

  20.

  Alex, Present Day.

  When Jojo isn’t in the house, I force myself to believe she’s marching toward our daughter. The alternative would be too grim. I pack a few supplies quickly and stash my messenger bag in the fireproof safe. Our documents might be the only things to save us, or to at least prove who was behind our murders.