Chapter 4 - The Surveillance Web
The realization that Scott was nearby—watching us, controlling us, hiding in plain sight—sent a freezing wave of terror through my veins.
“Why?” I whispered, clutching the steering wheel of the patrol car. “If he wanted to control her, why stay in the same city? Why rent a motel twenty miles away while pretending to be in Chicago?”
Detective Ramos walked up to the car, leaning his arms on the rolled-down window. He looked exhausted, carrying a tablet displaying a live-stream interface.
“Because, Mrs. Hayes, he wasn't just hiding from you,” Ramos explained grimly. “He was monitoring you. Look at this.”
He turned the tablet toward me. On the screen was a live, high-definition video feed of our living room, our kitchen, and our master bedroom.
“Pinhole cameras,” Ramos said. “Wired into every smoke detector and decorative frame in this house. He had full audio and visual feeds streamed directly to his tablet. Every conversation you had with Chloe about her eating habits, every time you questioned him—he watched and listened to it all in real-time.”
Nausea churned in my stomach. For months, I had lived in a fishbowl, believing I was sharing a home with a loving husband, while a predator watched my every move from a motel room across town.
“Is he still watching?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
“We severed the local network router connection ten minutes ago,” Ramos assured me. “His feeds went dark. Which means... he knows we found the setup.”
As if on cue, my personal cell phone buzzed loudly in the cup holder.
I jumped. Officer Vance carefully reached in, picked up the phone, and checked the screen.
Caller ID: Scott.
“Answer it,” Ramos instructed, signaling for a tech officer to plug an audio recorder into the phone jack. “Put it on speaker, keep your voice steady, and let’s see what he wants.”
I swallowed hard, my hands shaking as I pressed the green accept button.
“Hello, Scott,” I said, fighting to keep my voice from cracking.
May you like
Silence hung on the line for a long, agonizing moment. Then, a low, smooth voice came through the speaker—a voice that had once whispered sweet promises of love, now sounding cold, calculating, and utterly alien.
“You shouldn't have been poking around my office, Clara,” Scott whispered softly from the other end. “You’ve ruined a very carefully laid plan. Now... bring my daughter outside to the driveway. And don't make me come in there to get her.”
