Chapter 22

As the city blurs past, I feel guilty for betraying Elena. She’s been nothing but supportive, and here I am, ditching her, all to play Nancy Drew with my family’s dark legacy. But this isn’t about Elena; it’s about Luk, our baby, and securing a future free from the dangers of my family’s past.

My conscience berates me as I scroll through the unread messages piling up on my phone. Finally, I cave and read through Elena’s texts. They range from mildly concerned to full-blown panic mode to anger.

Where are you?

Are you okay?

If you haven’t been kidnapped, I’m going to kick your ass.

So much for sneaking back.

I switch off my phone, a lump forming in my throat. Going dark feels like stepping off a cliff, but I can’t take the risk that Luk or his Bratva buddies can track me. Besides, I only need an hour or so.

The cab pulls up in front of a towering skyscraper, all glass and cold, hard steel. It’s the kind of place that screams power and money, and not necessarily in that order. I step out, squaring my shoulders as I face the imposing building.

The lobby is all sleek lines and hushed tones, the kind of quiet that makes my footsteps sound like gunshots. I make a beeline for the elevators, hitting the button for Mr. Dreschel’s floor with more force than necessary. The ride up is a slow climb to Judgment Day, my stomach flip-flopping like a fish out of water.

The attorney’s office looks just like I remember it, all plush carpeting and elegant upholstery. The air is thick with a seriousness that makes my heart sink a little lower with each step. Something’s off. The receptionist looks like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“Hi, I’m Maura Flanagan. I have an appointment with Mr. Dreschel,” I announce with a smile, trying to inject a bit of enthusiasm into the somber atmosphere.

The receptionist meets my gaze, and I catch a glimpse of genuine worry flickering in her eyes. It’s a look that says whatever she’s about to tell me isn’t good. She hesitates, her voice softening, “Ms. Flanagan, I’m so sorry. I meant to call you…”

A pause hangs between us, heavy and ominous. “What is it?” I prompt, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach.

She swallows hard, her next words coming out in a rush, “Mr. Dreschel died in a car accident last night. We’re all in shock.”

The words hit me like a physical blow, leaving me momentarily breathless. Frank Dreschel—the man who was supposed to help me navigate through the murky waters of my family’s legacy—gone just like that in a freak car accident? It doesn’t seem possible.

I stand there, stunned, trying to process the news. Questions swirl through my mind, each one more urgent than the last. Who else knows about the will? Was it really an accident, or is there more to the story, especially given the danger that has been surrounding me lately? And, most importantly, what do I do now?

Trying to keep my voice as steady as possible, I lean in slightly, doing my best to come off as non-threatening. “Do you know if Mr. Dreschel… did he find out anything about my father’s will?”

The receptionist bites her lip, clearly torn. After a moment, she nods, reluctantly admitting, “Yes, he did. He was here late last night, working on it. Something about the will caught his interest, and whatever it was, he seemed to think it was important.” Her voice trails off, and she looks away, adding, “He was on his way home from here when the accident happened.”

She shakes her head in disbelief. “His car was brand-new,” she says. “And yet the police say the brakes failed. It’s all so strange. Everything about it is just… off.”

Part of me wants to leave, so I don’t risk upsetting the receptionist more than she already is. But the greater part of me understands this is an opportunity I can’t waste. “Would it be possible for me to take a look at the information he found?” I ask, trying to sound hopeful rather than desperate.

The receptionist hesitates, a silent battle playing out behind her eyes. Finally, she sighs, resignation etched into her features. “I suppose. Mr. Dreschel mentioned he was planning to call you first thing this morning. As I said, he seemed to think whatever he’d found was important, something you needed to know about right away.” She stands up, moving toward a file cabinet with a reluctance that tells me she’s stepping out of her comfort zone.

I follow her, my heart pounding. As she hands me a file, our eyes meet—an unspoken understanding passing between us. We’re both in uncharted waters here, but it’s clear she’s choosing to trust Mr. Dreschel’s judgment, even in the aftermath of his sudden death.

The receptionist ushers me into a small, somewhat sterile conference room. “I’ll be right back,” she says before offering me a seat and then exiting, clicking the door shut behind her. The air feels charged like it’s brimming with secrets just waiting to spill over. She returns shortly, carrying a manila folder.

“Here’s everything Mr. Dreschel was reviewing. Please, try not to take too long,” she says, her voice low, almost a whisper as if tremendous consequences await if I do.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind her, I dive into the folder like it’s the last lifeboat off a sinking ship. The will is there, just as promised, but it’s a sea of legal jargon and highlighted sections that make my head spin.

Also nestled among the documents is Mr. Dreschel’s notebook, a chaotic collection of handwritten comments and observations that seem to jump off the page with urgency.

I take a deep breath and start sifting through the documents, my brain working overtime to keep up with the legal speak.

Hereunto, the party of the first part shall bequeath unto the party of the second part, I mutter under my breath, sounding like I’ve swallowed a law textbook.

But slowly, piece by piece, the riddles begin to make sense. And then the reality of what I’m reading hits me. According to the will, Sharon stands to inherit everything, every last dime of my father’s money that’s been sitting in a trust, should anything happen to me.

My hands shake as I flip through Mr. Dreschel’s notes, his handwriting a mess of loops and scribbles that somehow make more sense than the legal documents.

Potential conflict of interest. Questionable motives. Review trust conditions and clauses regarding beneficiary designation.

Each note is a breadcrumb leading me down the path to the witch’s cottage, a path I’m not sure I want to follow.

The implications are staggering. It’s not just about the money—though, the stakes are high there—it’s the betrayal, the undercurrents of greed and manipulation that seem to underpin this entire situation.

How could Sharon be the beneficiary? And, more importantly, why? Was this a setup from the start? Is it a game with me as the unwitting pawn?

The most likely scenario is that Sharon strong-armed Dad into it. Or had her lawyer change things around when Dad was incapacitated before his death. She’d had power of attorney, after all.

I close the folder, my mind racing with questions. I’m caught right in the middle of this mess, trying to piece together a mystery that seems to deepen with every discovery.

The receptionist’s earlier words echo in my mind, urging me to hurry. I need more time and more information, but I don’t have the luxury of digging deeper right now.

Letting out a heavy sigh, I feel the full weight of the situation. It’s like I’ve been walking through a dense fog that’s suddenly lifted to reveal a landscape far more treacherous than I’d ever imagined. The pieces slot together with chilling clarity—Sharon, with her almost cartoonish villainy, is not just a thorn in my side—she’s a direct threat to my life.

I power up my phone, bracing myself for the avalanche of missed calls and messages. I call Elena back and she picks up before the first ring even finishes, her voice full of irritation and concern. “Maura, where the hell are you? I’ve been worried sick!”

I cut straight to the chase, the urgency of the situation leaving no room for small talk. “Elena, listen, I found out something huge. It’s about my father’s will, and it could tie into the failed assassination attempts.”

Elena’s initial annoyance quickly turns to worry. “Oh my God, Maura. That sounds terrifying.”

“It is. It looks like my stepmother is behind the attempts on my life. And she stands to gain everything if she succeeds.” Saying it out loud makes it all the more real and all the more shocking.

Elena is silent for a moment. “Maura, this is serious. You’re in more danger than we thought. You need to get back to the mansion—now.”

“I know; I’m calling an Uber as we speak. I’ll be there as fast as I can,” I assure her, my fingers already navigating through the app to summon a ride.

“No way. Send me your pin, and the bodyguards will come and get you. I’ll call a car to pick me up here. Don’t go anywhere else; stay right where you are, okay?” Elena’s voice is dripping with urgency and concern, a stark reminder of the risks.

“I will do that. And Elena? Thanks for being there,” I add, feeling a surge of gratitude for her unwavering support in this whirlwind of madness.

“Of course. You’re family, remember? Stubborn, disobedient family, but family nonetheless.” I can hear her smile through the phone.

In a frantic race against time, I snap photos of the will and Mr. Dreschel’s notes, my phone’s camera clicking quietly in the tense silence of the room. Each image captures more of the puzzle, clues to the treachery that’s been woven around me. The receptionist’s return snaps me back to the present, her gentle reminder that my time is up echoing ominously in the room.

“Thank you so much for letting me review this,” I manage to say, handing back the folder and offering my condolences on Mr. Dreschel’s untimely passing. I step into the elevator and descend back into the world with a heavy heart.

As the floors tick by, a chilling thought worms its way into my mind. What if Sharon and Rory had something to do with Mr. Dreschel’s death? The idea that they could go to such lengths, eliminating anyone who gets too close to the truth, sends a shiver down my spine.

My heart races, not just with fear, but with the desperate need to be back at the mansion, safe in Luk’s arms, to share with him the news of our baby.

The lobby passes in a blur as I make my way outside, my eyes scanning for the bodyguards and our car. The sight of a familiar, black car with dark-tinted windows parked curbside sends a wave of relief through me, and I hurriedly open the back door and slip inside, not giving the driver a chance to open it for me. My relief is short-lived as I slide into the backseat and come face to face with my nightmare—Sharon—smirking like the cat that ate the canary, with Rory in the driver’s seat ominously silent.

Sharon’s voice is silk over steel. “Maura, darling, so very pleased you could join us.”

Panic grips me as I reach for the door, only to find it locked. Rory doesn’t say a word; he simply pulls away from the curb, sealing my fate. Before we get too far, he reaches back with surprising speed and plucks my phone out of my hand, tossing it out the window with a quick snap of his wrist.

I’m trapped, my heart pounding in my chest as the car speeds away. Every instinct screams at me to fight, to find a way out, knowing that with every turn, I’m getting farther from safety, farther from Luk.

Sharon watches me, her gaze wicked and calculating. “You’ve been a busy bee, Maura. Digging into things that you shouldn’t be. We can’t have that, now, can we?”

Her words are cold, a clear reminder of the danger I’ve stumbled into. It’s not just about the inheritance anymore; it’s about survival. The cruelty Sharon showed me throughout most of my life has followed me into adulthood, into marriage, and into the life I swore to keep her out of.

I weigh my options, desperate for any leverage, any angle to use against them. But Sharon’s smug grin and Rory’s silent compliance tell me I’m at a disadvantage.

I realize that this is it—the confrontation I’ve been dreading. But I’m not the same frightened woman I was when I married Luk two months ago. And I have more to fight for now than ever before.