Chapter 4 - Blood is Thicker Than Paper
“Troy?” Sarah snapped, stepping out of the study and shining her flashlight directly into my brother’s face. “What are you doing here? You weren't supposed to show up until midnight!”
Troy stumbled backward slightly, lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the glare. He was wearing his expensive designer overcoat, looking dry and unbothered by the rain outside.
“My mother called me,” Troy said defensively, stepping fully into the foyer and closing the heavy door behind him. “She was worried about the keys. She said if Amelia came straight home from the airport, she might try to look at the safety deposit box documents in the study before Arthur’s team secured them.”
I sat frozen behind the console table, the blood roaring in my ears.
My mother.
My own mother hadn't just ignored my plea for a ride from the airport. She hadn't just chosen a dinner with the Hendersons over meeting her grieving daughter. She had orchestrated this entire operation.
While I was standing in the cold Oregon rain with my husband’s ashes in my carry-on bag, my family was actively conspiring with corporate lawyers to strip away everything James and I had built.
“She’s not looking at anything,” Frank muttered, stepping out of the hallway with a thick black ledger in his hand. “The place is freezing, and the water heater in the back is leaking chemicals everywhere. This house is going to be a total write-off by sunrise.”
“Good,” Troy said coldly, walking further into the foyer. “The faster the property value drops, the easier it is for Arthur to force a probate liquidation. James’s name is still primary on the deed, but once we prove abandonment, the court will award administration rights to the next of kin—which means my mother.”
“And what about Amelia?” Sarah asked, crossing her arms. “She lives here too, legally.”
Troy let out a short, cynical laugh. “Amelia is broken. Did you see her text in the group chat earlier? ‘No problem.’ She has no fight left in her. She spent all her savings on James’s medical bills overseas. By tomorrow afternoon, she won't even have a place to sleep, let alone a lawyer to fight us.”
Hearing those words spoken aloud by my own brother felt like a physical blow, sharper and more painful than any physical injury.
She has no fight left in her.
They thought I was defeated. They thought grief had turned me into a ghost, someone they could step over on their way to financial gain, just like they had stepped over my request for a ride at the airport.
They didn't know that grief doesn't always make people weak. Sometimes, when it burns hot enough, it turns into pure, unadulterated fury.
My fingers tightened around my phone. The screen flickered—15% battery remaining.
Then, my phone vibrated silently against my palm.
A text from Maya: “Police dispatch notified. Two units are five minutes away. Get out of there, Em.”
Five minutes.
I just needed to stay hidden for five minutes.
But as Troy turned toward the living room to drop his wet umbrella into the stand, his eyes swept across the floor near the console table.
And then he stopped dead in his tracks.
May you like
Resting right beside my boot, half-hidden in the shadows, was one of the black leather luggage tags I had dropped when my suitcase spilled open at the airport earlier that evening.
Troy’s gaze followed the tag upward, straight into the darkness beneath the console table where I was crouching.
