We were still standing in the middle of the living room.
Not sitting. Not pacing. Just standing there like two people who had forgotten how to move.
Amanda was by the window, her arms folded tightly across her chest, staring at the street as though something might suddenly appear if she looked hard enough. I was a few steps behind her, my phone in my hand, the screen still glowing faintly from the tracker app we had been refreshing over and over again.
The dot hadn't moved.
Still at the same location.
The prison.
"She's not stupid," Amanda said quietly. "If she went there, it means something."
Or everything.
We had already exhausted every theory. That she had gone to threaten Paquito. That she had gone to collect information. That she had gone to confirm what we knew. That she had gone to erase something. Or someone.
Nancy.
Brittany.
Whatever her real name was, she had vanished from our house without a word, without fear, without hesitation. And now she was inside the one place none of us could reach.
I stared at the screen again. "If she wanted to hide, she wouldn't go somewhere that obvious."
Amanda turned slowly. Her face looked carved from something brittle. "Unless she wants us to know."
The words sat between us like a warning.
Before I could respond, my phone vibrated.
Once.
Twice.
The sound cut through the room like a blade.
I looked down.
Unknown number.
But the location indicator blinked faintly at the top of the screen.
Prison.
My breath caught in my throat.
Amanda was already moving toward me. "Pick it up."
My fingers felt numb as I swiped.
"Hello?" I said.
For half a second, there was only static.
Then a voice I knew too well.
Low. Controlled. Familiar in the most dangerous way.
"Jade."
Everything inside me went cold.
It was her.
"Nancy?" I whispered.
"I don't have much time," she said. Her voice wasn't trembling, but there was something rushed beneath it, something strained. "You need to put this call on speaker. Now."
Amanda was beside me instantly, her eyes wide, her hand gripping the back of the couch as if to keep herself upright.
I didn't hesitate. I pressed the button.
The room filled with her voice.
"I'm in the prison," Nancy continued. "And I know you are aware of that."
Amanda leaned closer. "Where are you?"
"With Damien."
The name hit me like a blow to the chest.
My heart slammed violently against my ribs. "What?"
"She came straight to me," a second voice said, calm but wary. Damien's. "She asked to see me directly."
I couldn't speak for a moment. My mind raced, trying to catch up with what was unfolding in real time.
"She didn't go to Paquito," Amanda said, almost to herself.
"No," Nancy replied. "I didn't."
There was a brief pause, like she was choosing her words carefully, aware that every second mattered.
"I know you already figured out who I am," she said. "Or at least most of it."
My throat tightened. "Then say it."
"I'm not Brittany. My name is Nancy. And yes… I was there."
The room seemed to tilt.
Amanda made a sound that was almost a sob.
"There," I repeated. "That night."
"Yes."
The single word felt heavier than any explanation.
Nancy continued, her voice steady but edged with something darker. "I was in that house the night your sister and her husband were killed. I saw what happened."
My knees weakened. I lowered myself onto the arm of the couch, gripping it for support.
"Then tell us who did it," Amanda said, her voice shaking. "Tell us who planned it."
There was another pause.
When Nancy spoke again, it was softer. "I can't."
"What do you mean you can't?" Amanda snapped.
"I mean I won't," she said quietly. "Not because I don't know. But because saying it out loud is a death sentence."
Silence swallowed the room.
Damien's voice cut in, sharp. "You come here, you admit you were there, and you still won't tell us who's behind it?"
"I'm telling you what I can," Nancy replied. "And what I can tell you is this, whoever did this is not outside your world. They are not strangers. They are inside the estate."
My breath caught.
Inside.
Not one person.
People.
"It's not just one of them," she continued. "It never was."
Amanda's hand flew to her mouth.
My mind reeled. Neighbors. Familiar faces. Polite greetings. Smiles across fences. People we had learned to trust simply because they were close.
"You said your sister worked for the Alexanders," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady.
"Yes. She was their maid."
"And you worked for…?"
"For your Amanda's sister," Nancy said. "That's how I knew the house. That's how I knew the routines. That's why I was there that night."
The weight of her words pressed down on my chest.
"And your sister?" Amanda whispered.
"She died that same night."
The air in the room seemed to thin.
"She came looking for me," Nancy went on. "She had noticed something strange earlier in the evening. When she reached the house, it was already too late. She saw more than she was supposed to. She tried to leave. To get help. Someone came from behind. And that was the end."
Amanda sank onto the couch as if her legs had simply given up.
"She was the scapegoat," Nancy said. "Just like Paquito. Just like anyone who gets too close."
My hands were shaking now. "Then why come to us? Why now?"
"Because I'm running out of places to hide," she answered. "And because I know you're already being watched. I was sent to your house for a reason."
"To spy on us," Amanda said bitterly.
"Yes."
The word landed without apology.
"They told me to get close. To report everything. To make you believe I was on your side."
"Then why are you telling us this?" I asked.
"Because I don't want more people to die."
Her voice cracked, just slightly.
"And because my sister already paid the price."
Amanda asked straight away . "Who is operating my sister's phone?"
"I don't know," Nancy said. "I've tried to find out myself. Whoever it is, they're careful. Too careful. They don't move unless they want to be seen."
My thoughts raced back to the night the location had appeared. The deliberate precision of it. The way it felt… staged.
"Every time someone uncovers something," Nancy continued, "they end up dead. Even the ones who pretend they know nothing. Alibis don't survive. Witnesses don't survive. Investigators don't survive."
A chill crept through my spine.
"Which is why you cannot trust anyone," she said. "Not the police. Not the detectives. Not the people who claim they're helping you. Their hands are tied. Or bought."
Damien exhaled slowly. "Then why come to me? Why take the risk of coming here?"
"Because the prison is the only place they can't reach me immediately," she said. "And because I need you all to hear this at the same time."
I closed my eyes briefly.
"You said you had something," I said. "A way to prove it."
"Yes."
The word carried a strange finality.
"There is a document," Nancy said. "A file. It contains information that connects the people involved. Names. Transactions. Movements. It's not everything, but it's enough to start unraveling them."
Amanda's head snapped up. "Where is it?"
"Hidden," Nancy replied. "Somewhere they won't think to look. I kept it there for months. Waiting. Afraid."
"Send it to us," I said.
"I can't. Not yet."
My chest tightened. "Why?"
"Because if I transmit it digitally, they'll trace it. They'll know exactly where it came from. I won't make it out alive."
"You're already in danger," Damien said.
"I know."
Her voice dropped. "That's why this has to be done carefully."
"What do you need to do?" I asked.
"I have to go back to where I'm staying. Retrieve the file. Then I'll find a way to get it to you."
Amanda shook her head. "That's too risky."
"So is staying silent," Nancy said.
There was a brief silence on the line.
Then she spoke again, more quietly. "I didn't come to your house because I wanted to. They sent me. They wanted to see how much you knew. What you were planning. I pretended to cooperate because it was the only way to stay alive long enough to do this."
My chest felt tight, every breath shallow.
"And now?" I asked.
"Now I finish what I started."
I glanced at Amanda. Her face was pale, her eyes glassy.
"Listen to me carefully," Nancy said. "Do not trust anyone after this call. Not even people who sound like they're helping. Especially not them. If someone suddenly offers protection or answers, be suspicious. This thing runs deeper than you think."
My grip on the phone tightened.
"And Damien," she added, her tone shifting. "You're not safe in there. Don't believe that you are."
"I know," he replied.
She exhaled sharply. "I have to leave here before they start asking too many questions."
"Wait," I said quickly. "How will we know when you get the file?"
"I'll contact you."
"From where?"
She hesitated. Just a fraction of a second.
"I'll figure that out when I get there."
Something in her voice made my stomach twist.
"You sound like you don't believe you'll make it," I said.
"I don't believe in luck anymore," she answered.
A hollow ache spread through my chest.
"I'm outside now," she said. "I need to get a car."
I could hear faint background noise through the phone—distant voices, the echo of open space, the hum of traffic beyond the prison gates.
"Be careful," Amanda said hoarsely.
Nancy didn't respond immediately. Then, softly: "I'll try."
There was the sound of footsteps. Wind. The muffled rush of vehicles.
"I'm crossing to the road," she said. "I'll call you as soon as I get to my place."
My heart was pounding so loudly I could hear it in my ears.
"Nancy, " I began.
A sudden sharp sound cut through the line.
A horn.
Brakes.
A scream.
It was raw. Terrified. Human.
The phone slipped in my hand as my breath left my lungs in a single, broken gasp.
"Nancy?" I shouted.
There was chaos on the other end now. Distant voices. Shouting. The hollow thud of something hitting the ground. The sound of the phone striking pavement.
"Nancy!" I screamed again.
No answer.
Only noise.
Only panic.
Only the sickening certainty that something irreversible had just happened.
The screen went dark.
My phone slid from my fingers and hit the floor.
I stood there, frozen, my entire body trembling, my mind struggling to process what my ears had just heard.
Amanda was staring at me, her face drained of color.
"She's…?" she whispered.
I couldn't speak.
The room felt too small. Too quiet. Like the world had just narrowed to the space between my heartbeat and the empty air where her voice had been seconds ago.
"She's dead," I finally said, the words tasting like ash. "They got her."
Amanda's hand flew to her mouth as a strangled sound escaped her.
The truth settled over me with brutal clarity.
Nancy had known it.
She had come to us not because she believed she would survive, but because she believed the truth might.
And now, the person who held the key to everything was lying somewhere on a roadside, her phone shattered, her secrets still locked inside a file none of us had seen.