Chapter 5 - The Secret Inside the Toy
Oliver reached into the seam of the stuffed dog’s belly, where the stitching had been torn and crudely resewn with red yarn. His small fingers dug deep into the synthetic cotton stuffing, pulling out a small, rectangular silver device with a tiny black microphone grid on the front.
It was a high-grade, voice-activated digital recorder—the kind used by private investigators.
"Mommy put this inside Barnaby three days ago," Oliver said, holding the device out to Benjamin, his voice no longer shaking. It had gone entirely cold. "She said if Derek ever did something bad when people weren't looking, Barnaby would hear it. She told me to never let Derek see it."
Derek’s face went from angry to completely bloodless in a fraction of a second. He made a sudden, desperate lunge across the floor, his large hands reaching out to grab the silver device from Oliver’s hand.
Benjamin moved faster. He caught Derek by the throat with his left hand, slamming him hard against the drywall of the corridor, his right fist buried deep into Derek’s midsection.
Derek collapsed to the floor, gasping for air as two hospital security guards rushed corners, pinning his arms behind his back.
"Vance, take the recorder," Benjamin said, breathing heavily as he adjusted his cuffs. "Let's see what Uncle Derek sounds like when he thinks nobody is listening."
Vance took the silver device, his fingers pressing the small play button on the side. The tiny speaker crackled with static for a brief moment, followed by the distinct sound of a door slamming shut and the heavy, muffled thud of a physical struggle.
Then, a woman’s desperate voice filled the hospital corridor.
"Derek, please! Stop! The farm belongs to Oliver! I won't sign it over to your shell company! I know what you did to Thomas’s insurance!"
Derek’s recorded voice replied, loud, brutal, and completely stripped of the grieving relative persona he had just displayed.
"Thomas was a fool, Rachel, and so are you. You think the police care about a widow in a trailer? By the time anyone looks for you, the deed will be recorded, the land will be sold, and you’ll be just another missing person who couldn't handle the grief. Get in the damn box."
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The recording cut to the horrifying sound of a heavy metal lid slamming shut, followed by the distinct, rhythmic clicking of a padlock being snapped into place.
Vance stared at the device in his hand, his face turning a deep, shamed crimson. He looked up at the security guards holding Derek. "Arrest him. Attempted first-degree murder, kidnapping, and corporate fraud. Get him out of my sight."
