Chapter 8 - Allison Chose a Door
Allison left Walter four months after I escaped.
She did not move in with me.
She did not become Noah’s babysitter.
She rented a small apartment in Lancaster.
The first night, she called Lucy because she was afraid she would return to the farmhouse if she called me.
That was probably the smartest thing she did.
Walter froze several joint accounts.
Allison’s lawyer intervened.
For the first time in thirty-seven years, she had to learn which money actually belonged to her.
She hated the process.
She stayed gone anyway.
I did not forgive her.
Not yet.
Maybe not fully ever.
But when investigators asked why she finally gave me the phone, Allison answered honestly.
“I was afraid Walter and Aaron were going to do something that couldn’t be undone.”
The interviewer asked:
“You mean hurt Emily?”
Allison shook her head.
“They already were.”
That answer mattered to me.
It was the first time she stopped measuring harm only by whether someone died.
Meanwhile, the utility-company negotiations became public enough that land speculation spread through the county.
Offers arrived.
$5.8 million.
Then $6.4 million.
A broker suggested combined development could exceed eleven million.
I refused to sell.
People thought that was irrational.
Maybe someday I would.
But I was not making the largest financial decision of my life while every man who had tried to make it for me was still explaining why I should be grateful.
Instead, I leased part of the acreage to a neighboring farmer for two seasons.
Boring income.
My choice.
That felt better.
Marcus also reviewed old Hale succession documents.
Walter’s hidden daughter might have rights, but nothing was automatic.
Recognition would require evidence.
Possibly DNA.
Court proceedings.
Interpretation of old agreements.
No surprise stranger would walk into an office and become owner of half the farm before lunch.
Reality required work.
Then Margaret Vale called.
“My sister wants to come to Ohio.”
Anna.
The first woman locked in the cellar.
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“She saw part of the public court record.”
“What does she want from me?”
“Nothing.”
I almost laughed.
Everyone wanted something.
Margaret heard it.
“I understand why you don’t believe that.”
Anna was eighty now.
Health fragile.
She had avoided Ohio for four decades.
But she wanted one thing before she died.
“To see the farmhouse?”
“No.”
Margaret paused.
“To see you.”
I did not answer immediately.
Then Marcus called separately.
“There’s another issue.”
“What?”
“Anna’s daughter is coming too.”
“Walter’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She has documents.”
“What kind?”
“A letter from Walter.”
“When?”
“Eight years ago.”
I closed my eyes.
Walter had spent decades pretending the first family he tried to control had disappeared.
Apparently he had continued communicating with the daughter he publicly erased.
Part 10 was approaching.
May you like
I could feel it.
This time, I refused to guess what it meant before the documents reached the table.
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