Chapter 21
Maren.
My own name in his mouth had become something sharp over the years. A warning. A correction. A door closing.
But tonight, for the first time in a long time, hearing him say nothing felt like power returning to my body one breath at a time.
The dispatcher told me help was on the way.
“Thank you,” I said, then lowered the phone but did not hang up. I placed it faceup on the table so the open line could hear everything.
Genesis’s eyes flicked toward it.
Then toward me.
Then back to the folder.
“What is that?” she asked, her voice thin enough to tear.
I looked down at the blood drying along the back of my hand. A red thumbprint marked the edge of the folder where I had pulled it out by accident when reaching for my phone. The sight should have frightened me. Instead, it steadied me.
Jackson swallowed. “Maren, don’t.”
The softness in his voice startled the room more than his shouting had.
That was when I understood something else.
He was not afraid of the police.
He was afraid of what the folder proved.
I opened it.
Inside were copies of bank records, emails, property documents, loan agreements, and photographs. At the very top sat a letter with the letterhead of Bishop & Vale, the law firm my late father had once used for his business affairs.
But beneath that letter was the document Jackson feared most.
An insurance investigation report.
His failed business ideas had not failed from bad timing.
His partners had not betrayed him.
His terrible luck had worn his signature.
I slid the first page onto the table. It glided across the white linen, stopping beside Genesis’s wineglass.
“This,” I said, “is why you needed my apartment.”
No one spoke.
A siren wailed in the distance, faint at first, then growing stronger.
Jackson took one step toward me.
His brother, Eli, stood.
“Don’t,” Eli said.
It was only one word, but it landed with more weight than anything he had said all night.
Jackson turned on him, eyes flashing. “Stay out of this.”
Eli did not move. He looked younger than Jackson, though he was only two years behind him. He had the tired face of a man who had spent his whole life watching storms gather and pretending they were weather.
“No,” Eli said. “I don’t think I will.”
May you like
Genesis inhaled sharply. “Elias.”
But he kept his eyes on his brother.
