Chapter 11 - The Knock at the Door
The sudden vibration of my phone on the granite island shattered the silence.
It was an unknown Chicago number.
I stared at the screen for three long rings before sliding my thumb across the glass. I put it on speaker.
"Hello?"
"Chloe," a smooth, cultured woman’s voice drifted through the speaker—a voice I hadn't heard since I was eight years old, but one that instantly sent ice through my veins. "I see you managed to ruin Thanksgiving for the Petersons. How dreadfully predictable."
"Helena," I breathed.
"Don't sound so shocked, darling," Helena chuckled softly. "Did you really think Donald’s fortune belonged entirely to you? You were always such a self-righteous little girl. Just like your mother."
"You colluded with Mark," I said, my voice hardening. "You paid him to help you steal my daughter."
"I paid him because he was useful, and frankly, pathetic enough to do the dirty work," Helena said smoothly. "Mark is finished, of course. He outlived his usefulness the second he let Megan botch the plan last night. But don't think for a single second that you've won, Chloe."
"I hold the deed, Helena. I hold the trust. You have nothing."
A low, sinister laugh echoed over the line.
"Check your front door, sweet niece. And remember: a deed is only as good as the signature on the original will. And Donald Adams was never as loyal to your mother as you were led to believe."
The line went dead.
A split second later, three loud, authoritative knocks hammered against the brownstone's heavy front door.
Arthur instantly stood up, his hand reaching into his coat toward his private phone, while the two security guards stepped into the hallway, their eyes locked on the entryway.
May you like
Lily’s footsteps sounded lightly down the stairs from the second floor. "Mommy? Is Daddy back?"
I turned toward the front hall as the brass mail slot in the heavy door clicked open, and a single black envelope slid across the polished hardwood floor, stopping precisely at my feet.
