Chapter 8 - The Ghost of the Past
That evening, after dropping Lily off at a study group with her best friend down the street, I drove back to the house, but my mind was restless. I needed a distraction. I needed to clear the lingering static of legal jargon and intimidation tactics from my head.
Instead of going inside, I got back into my SUV and drove across town toward the North Side, parking three blocks away from a familiar brick building.
Suite 801.
My old secret drafting studio. The place where I had gone the night my old life imploded, where Uncle Marcus and I had mapped out the independence that eventually saved me.
I walked up the old stone steps, pulled the heavy brass key from my pocket—wait.
I froze on the landing.
I had tossed that key into the Chicago River months ago.
My hand dropped to my side as I looked at the door. The brass handle wasn't dusty. The welcome mat had been shifted. And a small, white envelope was wedged tightly beneath the iron door handle.
My breath caught in my throat.
How did anyone know I used to come here?
I stepped forward cautiously, pulling my phone out with one hand and opening the camera app with the flash on. I reached down, pulled the envelope free from the handle, and turned it over.
My maiden name was written across the front in sweeping, elegant cursive: Rachel Vance.
There was no return address.
With trembling fingers, I tore open the flap and pulled out a single sheet of heavy linen paper. Inside was a handwritten note:
Rachel,
Your mother is losing her mind trying to protect a son who can’t be saved. But she’s missing the bigger picture, and so are you. Meet me at the art museum fountain tomorrow at noon. Come alone. I have something about Derek’s past—and your inheritance—that your mother has been hiding from you for twenty years.
— A Friend who knows the truth.
May you like
I stared at the paper, my mind racing through a dozen impossible scenarios. Was it a trap set by my mother? A desperate ploy by Sterling’s legal team? Or was someone from our past finally stepping forward to blow the family vault wide open?
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