Page 56 of 4th Silence
I change lanes. “He hid it well, but yes. He wants me to fix this, which means, solve the damn case and do it fast. But if I need his resources, I have them.”
She squeezes my shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”
I glance at her. “For what?”
“This type of attack hits you where you’re vulnerable. You try to protect me, Matt, and everybody else, Mom and JJ included. This time, you couldn’t. And your former boss? Mr. Hastings? I know how much you respect and admire him. To ruin his reputation and have him put before a firing squad because of you must be the worst kind of mortification.”
If she only knew how true that is. “It’s Special Agent in Charge Hastings, and yes, it’s quite mortifying. But I can’t sit back and let someone else control my narrative. I have no choice but to confront Mary and show the public it’s all nonsense.”
We fall into silence until we turn onto the tree-lined road that leads to the wealthiest enclave in the county. This is where money lives. This is where it buries secrets in the backyards. The houses grow more expansive, set back from the road behind ornate gates and manicured landscapes.
“Do you think we’re crazy for doing this?” Meg asks.
“Probably.”
“Well, then,” Meg straightens in her seat as the GPS announces we’re approaching our destination. “Let’s go make Mom proud. Should I film it for TikTok?”
We both laugh.
The Hartman estate is a sprawling Georgian mansion with pristine white columns that stand out against the overcast sky. No reporters or Tiffany’s mourners are present. Mary’s been busy getting rid of them, no doubt.
“Subtle,” Meg mutters, fidgeting with buttons on her wool jacket. “Nothing says ‘we have nothing to hide’ like a house that belongs in a Southern Gothic novel. How are we going to get in?”
The wrought iron gates part with mechanical precision, though I haven’t announced our arrival into the security box.
Is someone expecting visitors?
Expecting us?
Mary.
Meg and I exchange a look. The driveway curves around an ornate fountain where water cascades over stone cherubs with vacant eyes. Even the angels look like they’ve seen too much.
Flowing water in winter. Impressive.
I park near the front entrance, mentally rehearsing the carefully crafted questions I’ve prepared on the way here. “We’re here for a casual conversation. No accusations until it’s time for them. We need to be smarter than Mary.”
“We are smarter than that old bitch.”
A smile breaks over my face. “I don’t disagree.”
My heels click on the herringbone brick pathway as we approach the imposing mahogany front doors. Two matching evergreen wreaths blot out the center windows. A miniature tree and red sleigh with fake presents decorate the porch.
“The decorations alone probably cost more than my annual salary,” I whisper, noting the perfectly trimmed topiaries shaped like chess pieces flanking the entrance. Pawns and queens, all lined up for Mary’s games. Even in the midst of winter, they’re green and lush. I wonder if they’re afraid Mary will yank them out by the roots if they show any weakness, like going dormant.
Meg nods. “I feel like I should’ve brought an offering.”
“I’d rather bring a warrant.” I press the doorbell. Seems redundant since whoever’s home knows we’re here. The resulting chime echoes deep within the mansion, a somber cathedral toll.
I expect a housekeeper or butler—someone paid to create distance between the Hartmans and unwanted guests. Instead, the door opens with unexpected swiftness, revealing a surprise.
“Charlie,” Alex says my name as if he’s happy to see me. His warm gaze shifts, and he spots Meg off to the side. “And Meg. What a pleasant surprise.”
My carefully prepared opening line dissolves. He’s barefoot in jeans and a Harvard sweatshirt—a casual appearance that contrasts with the formal setting and his typical appearance. His hair is slightly tousled, no hair products slicking it down today. He seems genuinely happy to see us.
“We were hoping to speak with your mother,” I manage.
His smile flattens as he leans against the doorframe, blocking my view of the interior. “She’s not here. It is the holidays. She has endless brunches, lunches, and fundraisers.” He tilts his head. “Is there something I can help you with?”
