Chapter 6
The old key on my desk seemed to glow under the morning light.
Blue ribbon.
My father had not sold the estate.
He had hidden it from everyone.
Margaret noticed the key at the same time I did.
For one terrible second, her mask broke completely.
Pure terror looked out through her eyes.
Then she lunged.
Not at me.
At the key.
She moved faster than anyone expected. Her hand swept across the desk, but Daniel caught her shoulder, and Grace’s associate knocked the key aside. It skittered under the sofa.
Margaret screamed.
It was not anger this time.
It was panic.
“You stupid girl!” she shrieked at me. “You have no idea what he buried there!”
The police officer seized her arms.
Brandon stood up, trembling. “Mother, what’s in the greenhouse?”
Margaret stared at him.
And then she smiled.
It was the worst smile I had ever seen.
“Your inheritance,” she said.
Brandon froze.
She leaned closer, voice dropping into something intimate and poisonous.
“Did you think I kept you alive because I loved you?”
The room went utterly still.
Brandon’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Margaret laughed softly. “You were collateral.”
For the first time, I saw him not as my ex-husband, not as the man who had betrayed me, not even as the coward who had tried to break into my home.
I saw a boy raised by a monster and trained to call it love.
Then the elevator dinged.
Everyone turned.
A uniformed building security guard stepped into the hallway, confused and out of breath.
“Ms. Bennett,” he called, “there’s a courier downstairs. He says he has a hand-delivery from Blue Ribbon Properties.”
Grace’s eyes sharpened. “Do not accept anything.”
The guard looked down at the package in his hands.
Too late.
It was a slim black box tied with a blue ribbon.
No one breathed.
Daniel whispered, “Olivia, step away.”
The police officer moved toward the guard.
But before he reached him, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I stared at it, every nerve in my body turning to ice.
Grace shook her head. “Do not answer.”
But the phone answered itself.
The speaker clicked on.
For a moment, there was only static.
Then a man’s voice emerged. Smooth. Older. Amused.
“Hello, Olivia.”
Margaret closed her eyes like a condemned woman hearing the executioner enter.
The voice continued.
“I knew your father would make this difficult. Arthur always confused cleverness with control.”
My hands curled into fists.
“Victor Sloane,” I said.
A faint chuckle.
“Some people still call me that.”
Brandon took one step forward. “Who are you?”
The voice ignored him.
“Olivia, inside that box is an invitation. Come to the greenhouse tonight, alone, and I will tell you what your father never dared to confess.”
May you like
Grace mouthed no.
Victor heard the silence and seemed to enjoy it.
