Chapter 4 - They Chose the Wrong Family
I entered the main floor through the service hallway at 11:55 p.m.
Nobody noticed me at first.
Forty or fifty guests crowded the living room beneath strings of white lights and silver decorations.
A jazz version of “Auld Lang Syne” played through hidden speakers.
Waiters carried champagne.
People posed for pictures.
It was almost impossible to reconcile that room with the basement beneath it.
Three floors separated celebration from terror.
Sabrina stood near the fireplace greeting a couple from Kansas City.
When she saw me, her smile broke.
Only for half a second.
Then the hostess returned.
“Abraham!”
Several people turned.
She crossed the room quickly.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was invited.”
“I thought you weren’t coming.”
“I changed my mind.”
Victor appeared behind her.
His eyes locked onto mine.
Unlike Sabrina, he did not bother pretending to be pleased.
“Where have you been?” he asked.
“Driving.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
I smiled.
“Then ask a better question.”
Sabrina touched my arm.
Her fingers were cold.
“Wyatt isn’t feeling well.”
“So I heard.”
“He’s asleep.”
“Where?”
“Our bedroom.”
That lie came without hesitation.
I looked around.
“You have a lot of guests for a house with a sick man.”
She lowered her voice.
“Wyatt wanted the party to continue.”
“Did he?”
Victor stepped closer.
“Abraham, maybe tonight isn’t the time.”
“For what?”
“Family tension.”
I looked at him.
“Interesting word.”
Victor’s jaw shifted.
Across the room, one of Wyatt’s business partners approached.
“Mr. Yates! Haven’t seen you in forever.”
It was Caleb Morgan, who had known Wyatt since college.
He hugged me.
“Where is that son of yours? Sabrina says he’s upstairs.”
“I’m wondering the same thing.”
Sabrina interrupted.
“He has a migraine.”
Caleb frowned.
“A migraine? She told me food poisoning.”
Sabrina’s face barely changed.
“Same week.”
The inconsistency was small.
But Caleb noticed.
So did several people nearby.
I said nothing.
That was the advantage of liars.
If you let silence sit long enough, they usually fill it.
Victor guided Sabrina toward the kitchen.
They thought they were out of earshot.
They weren’t.
“Why is he here?” she whispered.
“I don’t know.”
“Did Wyatt contact him?”
“Impossible.”
“Then why tonight?”
Victor glanced toward me.
“Keep him upstairs.”
“What about Wyatt?”
“I’ll handle him.”
My phone remained in my jacket pocket, recording.
At 11:57, Sabrina returned holding champagne.
She handed me a glass.
“To fresh starts.”
“I’m driving.”
“One glass won’t hurt.”
“I said no.”
She stared at me.
Then smiled.
“Of course.”
I placed the glass on a table.
Across the room, Victor disappeared toward the basement hall.
I waited five seconds.
Then followed.
Sabrina stepped in front of me.
“Bathroom’s the other way.”
“I know.”
“Where are you going?”
“To see my son.”
Her smile disappeared.
“He’s sleeping.”
“You said he was upstairs.”
“He is.”
“Then why did your father just go downstairs?”
For the first time, real fear entered her eyes.
Caleb was watching now.
So were two women standing by the bar.
Sabrina lowered her voice.
“You need to leave.”
“Where’s Wyatt?”
“Abraham.”
“Where is my son?”
Her hand closed around my forearm.
“Not here.”
I looked down at her hand.
She released me.
Then I asked loudly enough for nearby guests to hear.
“Would you mind getting him?”
People started paying attention.
Sabrina laughed nervously.
“Everyone, my father-in-law worries too much.”
A man near the fireplace smiled.
Nobody else did.
“Wyatt’s resting,” Sabrina continued. “He’s been struggling with some personal issues.”
“What issues?”
“Abraham, please.”
“No. Tell me.”
Victor returned.
Too quickly.
He moved between us.
“This is inappropriate.”
“Where’s Wyatt?”
“Leave.”
Victor’s tone had changed completely.
Conversations around us died.
Someone turned down the music.
I looked from Victor to Sabrina.
“You told these people my son was upstairs.”
Nobody spoke.
“You told his employees he had a breakdown.”
Sabrina’s face hardened.
“You have no idea what we’ve been dealing with.”
“Then explain it.”
“He’s been using drugs.”
A murmur moved through the room.
There it was.
The story they had prepared.
Sabrina put one hand over her mouth as though struggling not to cry.
“He’s been unstable for months.”
I almost admired the performance.
Almost.
“He scares me,” she whispered.
Victor put his arm around her.
One woman walked over and squeezed Sabrina’s shoulder.
That was how manipulation worked.
A frightened expression.
A prepared narrative.
An audience willing to be compassionate.
I let her continue.
“He’s paranoid. He thinks people want his money. He refuses treatment.”
Caleb spoke.
“That doesn’t sound like Wyatt.”
“You don’t live with him.”
Sabrina’s voice sharpened.
Then softened again.
“I’ve been protecting him.”
I looked straight at her.
“Protecting him where?”
She stopped.
I took one step forward.
“Bring Wyatt downstairs.”
“He can’t.”
“Why?”
“He’s sedated.”
That word landed heavily.
“Sedated by whom?”
Sabrina looked at Victor.
Wrong move.
Everyone saw it.
Victor spoke quickly.
“Doctor’s prescription.”
“Which doctor?”
“That’s private.”
“So you have medication?”
“Yes.”
“Prescription bottle?”
“Yes.”
“Upstairs?”
Victor hesitated.
I already knew there was a syringe downstairs.
Caleb set down his glass.
“Maybe we should wake Wyatt.”
Sabrina snapped.
“No!”
Silence.
Her mask cracked.
Only briefly.
But enough.
Then I heard something beneath us.
A dull crash.
Everyone froze.
Another sound.
Metal.
Chain against concrete.
Sabrina turned pale.
I looked at her.
“What was that?”
“Pipes.”
Caleb frowned.
“Your pipes scream?”
Because we had all heard it now.
A muffled human cry.
Victor moved toward the basement hall.
I blocked him.
His face changed.
“Move.”
“No.”
He grabbed my shoulder.
I did not move.
“Get out of my way, old man.”
Several guests stepped backward.
I stared into his eyes.
“Go ahead, Victor.”
He hesitated.
“Put your hands on me in front of everyone.”
That stopped him.
Then Sabrina made a mistake.
She ran.
Not toward the front door.
Toward the basement.
Caleb followed.
So did three other guests.
Victor cursed and moved after them.
I took out my phone.
11:59.
I sent Harold one word.
Now.
Then I followed.
Sabrina reached the basement first.
Wyatt lay near the column, breathing hard.
The plate had been kicked aside.
Victor’s syringe lay on the floor.
Caleb stopped halfway down the stairs.
“Oh my God.”
A woman behind him screamed.
Sabrina spun around.
“Everybody upstairs!”
Nobody moved.
“What happened to him?” Caleb demanded.
Sabrina spread her hands.
“He did this to himself.”
Wyatt laughed weakly.
“With a chain?”
Victor pushed through.
“He’s dangerous. Stay back.”
I raised my phone.
“No, Victor.”
Victor looked at me.
“You want to explain the chain?”
“He asked us to restrain him.”
Wyatt stared at him in disbelief.
“For nine days?”
Guests whispered.
Victor reached toward the phone.
I stepped backward.
“Don’t.”
“Give me that.”
“Why?”
“You’re recording illegally.”
“We’re inside property held by a Yates family trust.”
Victor stopped.
Sabrina looked confused.
“What?”
I ignored her.
From outside came faint sirens.
Victor heard them.
So did Sabrina.
Her face collapsed.
“You called the police?”
I looked at my son.
“No.”
Then back at her.
“I called people who know what evidence looks like.”
Sabrina rushed toward Wyatt.
“You tell them you agreed to this.”
Wyatt stared at the woman he had married.
Then said the sentence that ended her control over him.
“I’m done being afraid of you.”
Blue lights flashed through the basement window.
Above us, the New Year countdown began.
“TEN!”
People upstairs shouted.
“NINE!”
Victor moved toward the back exit.
I stepped aside.
I wanted him to run.
“EIGHT!”
He reached the mechanical room.
“SEVEN!”
The door flew open.
Two sheriff’s deputies stood outside.
“SIX!”
Victor stopped.
“FIVE!”
A detective entered behind them.
“FOUR!”
Sabrina began crying.
Not for Wyatt.
For herself.
“THREE!”
Deputies approached Victor.
“TWO!”
A second team reached Sabrina.
“ONE!”
Midnight exploded upstairs in cheers.
And while fireworks lit the winter sky beyond the windows, my son’s chains were finally being cut away.
But before paramedics lifted him onto the stretcher, Wyatt grabbed my sleeve.
His voice was barely audible.
“Dad.”
“I’m here.”
“You don’t understand.”
“What?”
His eyes moved toward Sabrina.
“This wasn’t only about my money.”
I leaned closer.
Wyatt whispered,
May you like
“They were trying to get yours.”
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