Chapter 3 - The Threat at the Door
I stared at the glowing screen as it vibrated against the wood. My thumb hovered over the decline button, but a sudden spike of defiance forced me to answer.
"Hello?" I said, my voice hoarse.
"Lauren," my father's voice came through the speaker—cold, crisp, completely devoid of affection or relief. "I hear you were discharged today."
"No 'How are you feeling, Lauren?' No 'I'm glad you didn't bleed to death on the highway'?" I snapped, surprise giving way to raw anger.
A heavy pause echoed on the line. "Don't be dramatic, Lauren. You're fine. The hospital informed us your injuries were stabilized. We were very busy with Thanksgiving preparations and corporate board meetings."
"You told the doctor you'd come if I died, Harold." I dropped the title 'Dad'; it felt like ash in my mouth. "I heard them."
Harold let out a faint, dismissive sigh. "Nurses misinterpret things. That is beside the point. A man approached the billing desk at the hospital. An older man. He paid your bill under a false corporate account. Did he give you anything before you left?"
My grip tightened around Arthur Vance's letter. "Why do you care?"
"Listen to me very carefully, Lauren," Harold's tone turned venomous, stripping away any pretense of paternal authority. "You are weak, and you are foolish if you believe whatever lies Arthur Vance has fed you. Whatever he gave you belongs to Pierce Enterprises. If you open that box or share its contents with anyone, you will destroy everything this family has built—and I will personally ensure you are left with nothing. No money, no job, no future."
"I don't care about your money, Harold," I whispered. "I never did. All I wanted was a family."
"Then don't make an enemy out of me," he hissed. "I have a car heading to your apartment right now to collect what is mine. Be smart for once in your life."
The line went dead.
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Panic surged through me. My mind raced—Harold wasn't just cold; he was afraid. The ledger sitting on my coffee table contained something capable of destroying him.
I looked around my apartment. I couldn't stay here. My ribs screamed in agony as I stood up, but adrenaline pushed the pain into the background. I threw the ledger, the watch, and the letter into a canvas backpack, slung it carefully over my uninjured shoulder, and shuffled out toward the building's rear service stairs just as the front elevator chimed down the hall.
