“Where is Daniel now?” I asked, my tone flat, dangerous, and utterly devoid of fear.
“He’s flying into Boulder tomorrow morning for the late family Christmas dinner,” Celeste said. “He thinks he’s coming to celebrate.”
“Thank you, Celeste,” I said.
“What are you going to do?”
I looked toward the hallway, where my four children lay sleeping peacefully in their beds. Safe. Beautiful. Untouched by the rot of the Reynolds legacy.
“I’m going to finish this,” I replied.
Boxing Day in Boulder was blindingly white.
I didn’t bring the children this time. Leaving them in Austin with Dana was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but this wasn’t a room for innocence.
This was an execution.
When my rental car pulled up the long, snow-dusted driveway of Patricia’s home at 2:00 p.m., two other cars were parked outside. One belonged to Marcus. The other was a sleek, black luxury sedan.
Daniel had arrived.
I walked up the front steps, my black wool coat sharp against the powder, carrying a single leather folder under my arm. I didn’t knock. I pushed the front door open and walked into the grand entryway.
Voices echoed from the living room. Sharp. Heated.
“…you have no right to question my handling of the trust!” Daniel’s arrogant, refined voice cut through the air. “I saved this family from ruin eight years ago when Marcus was spiraling!”
“You lied to me!” Marcus screamed back. It was a raw, tore-from-the-throat sound. “You told me the legal notices were empty threats! You told me she was lying!”
I rounded
the corner into the living room.
The scene froze.
Patricia was slumped in a chair, looking utterly destroyed, her eyes red and sunken. Harold stood by the window, his back rigid. Marcus was standing nose-to-nose with a tall, impeccably tailored man in a charcoal suit.
Daniel Reynolds turned, his dark eyes narrowing as they landed on me. For a fraction of a second, panic flickered across his face, quickly replaced by a smug, lawyerly mask.
“Kesha,” Daniel said smoothly, adjusting his cuffs. “I heard about yesterday’s little… dramatic performance. Coming back here to stir up history won’t undo the past. If you’re here for money—”
