Chapter 4 - The Lake House Was Empty

We left before sunrise.

Adrian drove.

Mr. Bell sat beside him.

Thomas sat in the back with Camille.

I sat between them.

Nobody spoke for the first hour.

That might have been the most uncomfortable car ride of my life.

The lake house stood behind a line of bare trees near the water.

Old cedar siding.

Broken porch light.

No smoke from the chimney.

Adrian parked.

Mr. Bell stared at the house.

“I haven’t been here in twenty-one years.”

Thomas looked at him.

“Neither have I.”

Camille opened her door first.

Adrian stopped her.

“We go together.”

She nodded.

The brass key fit.

The door opened.

The house smelled like dust.

Old wood.

Cold stone.

Nothing dramatic.

That made it worse.

A place connected to two disappearances should have looked haunted.

Instead it looked abandoned.

Mr. Bell moved through the living room slowly.

Thomas checked the windows.

Adrian watched him.

“You remember where things are.”

Thomas did not pretend otherwise.

“Yes.”

Camille found the hidden cabinet.

Behind a bookshelf.

Empty.

She stared at the shelves.

“No.”

Thomas came beside her.

“They were here.”

“What?”

“Account books. Photographs. Copies of contracts.”

Adrian looked around.

“Who took them?”

Mr. Bell walked toward the fireplace.

He crouched.

Something had scratched the floor recently.

A heavy object dragged away.

Then I noticed mud.

Not old.

Fresh.

Two sets of shoe marks.

One large.

One smaller.

Leading toward the rear hall.

“Nobody touch anything.”

Adrian looked at me.

I pointed.

The tracks ended near a narrow door.

Thomas opened it.

Basement stairs.

We went down carefully.

The cellar was colder.

Stone walls.

Old wine racks.

A steel cabinet stood open.

Empty.

Camille found something beneath it.

A scarf.

Blue.

Silk.

She froze.

“My mother had one like this.”

Thomas looked at it.

“So did a million women.”

Camille turned.

“I remember the stitching.”

She showed us the edge.

Tiny white initials.

G.L.

No one spoke.

The scarf was old.

That did not prove Genevieve had been here recently.

But it proved she had been here.

Adrian looked at Thomas.

“You knew?”

“I knew she used the cellar.”

“Why?”

“She trusted no banks.”

Mr. Bell gave a tired laugh.

“Smart woman.”

Camille ignored them.

She searched behind the wine rack.

A loose stone moved.

Inside was a small metal box.

Empty except for one photograph.

Genevieve.

Thomas.

And another man.

Younger.

Blond.

Adrian recognized him first.

“Marc Laurent.”

Camille’s father.

She stared.

The photograph showed all three standing together.

Not enemies.

Not strangers.

Partners.

On the back was a date.

One week before Thomas disappeared.

Camille looked at her father’s younger face.

“He told me he barely knew you.”

Thomas shook his head.

“He knew me very well.”

Adrian’s voice sharpened.

“How well?”

Thomas looked at the empty cabinet.

“Well enough to know what your grandfather and Étienne had done.”

Camille frowned.

“My father wasn’t part of the original scheme.”

“No.”

Thomas looked at her.

“He inherited it.”

That was worse.

Adrian walked toward the stairs.

“Call security. Police too.”

Thomas grabbed his arm.

“No.”

Adrian looked down at his hand.

Thomas released him.

“Someone came here recently. If you bring police now, whoever moved the records disappears.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened.

“You disappeared for twenty-one years because you kept trying to handle this alone.”

Thomas said nothing.

Adrian continued.

“I’m not repeating your mistake.”

That ended the argument.

Local police arrived first.

Then private investigators from Adrian’s firm.

They documented the footprints.

The broken cabinet.

The box.

The scarf.

One officer found tire impressions behind the house.

Fresh.

Another found a cigarette near the back steps.

Camille stared at it.

“My father smokes that brand.”

Thomas looked at her.

“Marc?”

“Yes.”

She swallowed.

“He was here.”

Adrian turned.

“When did you last speak to him?”

“Two days ago.”

“What did he say?”

Camille looked ashamed.

“He asked whether I had found the key.”

Mr. Bell closed his eyes.

Adrian looked at her.

“And what did you tell him?”

“That I hadn’t.”

A phone rang.

Camille’s.

Her father.

Everyone looked at the screen.

Adrian said, “Answer.”

She did.

“Dad?”

Marc Laurent’s voice came through clearly.

“Camille.”

She looked at Thomas.

Then Adrian.

“Where are you?”

A pause.

Marc laughed quietly.

“You already know.”

Camille’s face changed.

“You were at the lake house.”

Another pause.

Then her father said:

“You should have listened to me when I told you some graves are safer unopened.”

The call ended.

Camille stood completely still.

Thomas looked toward the empty cabinet.

Then said the one thing none of us wanted to hear.

“He has the records.”

Adrian asked:

“And if he has them?”

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Thomas looked at his son.

“Then he knows where Genevieve went.”