Chapter 2 - Ghosts in the Estate
The iron gates of the Blackwell estate swung open, swallowing our armored convoy into the sprawling, heavily guarded compound on the outskirts of the city. To anyone else, it was a fortress of wealth and security. To me tonight, it felt like a cage built on a foundation of lies.
Inside the grand foyer, the warm amber glow of crystal chandeliers did nothing to thaw the ice spreading through my veins.
Rosa, our loyal head housekeeper of twenty years, gasped audibly when she saw me walk through the double doors carrying a carbon-copy of seven-year-old Lily, only smaller, paler, and trembling in an oversized sweater.
"Good Lord in heaven," Rosa whispered, her hands flying to her mouth as her eyes darted between Emma and Lily. "Mr. Blackwell... that child... she looks..."
"I know what she looks like, Rosa," I interrupted, my voice tight. I carried Emma toward the private family parlor, gently setting her down on the plush velvet sofa. "Get Dr. Lewis on the secure line. Have him come here immediately to check her vitals. And bring something warm to eat—something simple. She hasn't eaten since yesterday."
"Right away, sir," Rosa nodded, casting one last stunned look at Emma before hurrying toward the kitchens.
Lily sat beside Emma on the sofa, gently patting the little girl’s knee. "You're safe here," Lily said with all the fierce confidence only a six-year-old could muster. "My daddy owns everything. Nobody can hurt you."
I watched them for a moment, a knot tightening in my throat. They sat side by side, sharing the same unmistakable features, the same tilt of the head, the same haunting emerald gaze. How was it possible? How could Grace have had another child—a child who looked like she was born around the time Lily was three or four—while I was mourning a wife who was supposedly dead?
My phone buzzed sharply in my pocket. I pulled it out. It was Victor.
"Boss," Victor’s voice came through the encrypted line, laced with tension. "We found Aunt Karen. Or rather, we found her apartment in a rough district downtown. It's cleaned out. She skipped town three hours before you found Emma."
"Track her," I commanded, pacing toward the tall French doors overlooking the dark gardens. "I want her bank accounts, her phone records, her toll passes. Every digital footprint she left behind. Where did she go?"
"Initial traffic cams put her on a northbound bus out of state," Victor replied. "But Boss... that's not the only thing we found in the apartment. We tore the place apart looking for identification or birth certificates for Emma. We found a locked metal box in the floorboards. Inside wasn't just identification for Emma... there were journals. Personal journals belonging to Grace Blackwell."
The room seemed to tilt on its axis.
"Grace's journals?" I repeated, the words tasting like ash. "She died seven years ago, Victor."
"That's what the death certificate said, sir," Victor said grimly. "But judging by the dates in these books, the handwriting analysis, and the intimate details inside... Grace Blackwell didn't die in that car crash. She walked away from it. And she kept writing until three months ago."
My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. "Bring that box to my study. Do not let anyone else touch it."
"On my way."
May you like
I hung up, turning back toward the parlor. Dr. Lewis had arrived and was gently examining Emma, who was now sipping warm chicken broth while Lily chattered happily beside her, sharing her favorite stuffed rabbit.
For the first time in seven years, the ghost of my past wasn't resting peacefully in a cemetery. She was sitting in my living room, waiting for me to uncover the truth she had buried.
