Voice from the Cave

Voice from the Cave

Mildred A. Wirt

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Voice from the Cave by Mildred A. Wirt

Voice from the Cave Chapter 1 PAGE

1 AN UNINVITED GUEST 1

2 STORMY WEATHER 10

3 A JADE GREEN CHARM 19

4 NO CAMPING ALLOWED 27

5 OVER THE AIR 37

6 BREAKFAST BLUES 42

7 THE BEARDED STRANGER 49

8 KEEPER OF THE LIGHT 57

9 A SURPRISE FROM THE SKY 66

10 HELP FROM MR. EMORY 74

11 A MAN OF MYSTERY 83

12 CAUGHT BY THE TIDE 93

13 A HIDDEN PACKAGE 98

14 VOICE FROM THE CAVE 106

15 AFTERGLOW 114

16 SUSPICION 122

17 VISITORS NOT PERMITTED 130

18 INSIDE THE LIGHTHOUSE 139

19 A LOCKED DOOR 146

20 NYMPHS OF THE SEA 154

21 THE CARDBOARD BOX 161

22 UNFINISHED BUSINESS 170

23 NIGHT ADVENTURE 178

24 OUT OF THE SEA 187

25 A SCOOP FOR UNCLE SAM 198

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I stood at my mother’s open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule. While the priest’s voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?" When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone—he brought Charla with him. He claimed she’d had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child." He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me. "He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect. Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards.

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