Chapter 2 - The Seven-Year GhostVanessa scoffed loudly, stepping forward to push herself back into the spotlight. “This is absolute lunacy! Michael, you invited us here today because the board of directors demanded you settle down with a woman of status before the annual shareholder meeting next week. Are you really going to waste time interrogating a maid who stole a key?”
“Quiet, Vanessa,” Michael snapped, without taking his eyes off Emily.
Olivia Prescott took a step back, sensing the dangerous shift in the room’s atmosphere. The other three candidates—socialites from the highest circles of capital—looked thoroughly uncomfortable. They had come to win a billionaire husband and secure a fortune, not to witness a dark family secret unravelling in real-time.
“Emily,” Michael said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “Explain yourself. Right now.”
“Three years ago, when you hired me through the agency, I had no memories,” Emily explained quietly, looking down at Noah, who was still standing close to her side, holding her apron string. “I had severe amnesia from a head injury. I only knew my name was Emily. But the moment I set foot in this house, the walls felt familiar. The hallways felt like my own. And every night, when I cleaned the grand hall, I felt a terrible sense of danger.”
She pointed toward the portrait hanging above the marble fireplace—a breathtaking painting of Victoria Vance Harrington, painted months before her reported death.
“Look at the ring on her hand in that portrait,” Emily whispered.
Michael turned to the painting. Victoria was wearing a unique oval-cut sapphire surrounded by black diamonds.
Emily slowly slid her hand into her pocket and pulled out an identical ring, placing it on the polished mahogany table beside the broken glass.
Vanessa’s face drained of all color. She reached into her purse nervously, pulling out her phone and frantically typing a message. But Michael was too fast—he grabbed Vanessa’s wrist before she could send it.
“Who were you texting, Vanessa?” Michael asked coldly.
“N-nothing! My father!” she stammered.
“Your father, Arthur Montgomery, was the lead investigator on the car crash that allegedly killed my wife,” Michael realized, his mind piecing together a terrifying puzzle that had been buried for seven long years. “He was the one who insisted on a closed-casket funeral due to the fire. He was the one who pushed me to sign over control of the Vance Trust funds to his investment firm!”
Noah pulled on Emily’s hand. “Mom... is that you?”
Emily fell to her knees, tears finally spilling over her cheeks as her suppressed memories came rushing back like a tidal wave. She pulled Noah into a desperate, tight hug. “Noah... my baby. My sweet boy.”
“Wait!” Vanessa screamed, panic erupting in her voice. “This is a setup! She’s an imposter! She’s trying to steal the Harrington wealth! Security, kick her out!”
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“No one touches her!” Michael’s voice boomed through the grand hall, echoing into every corner of the mansion.
He turned to the five heiresses. “The matchmaking is over. All of you... get out of my house. Except you, Vanessa. You aren't going anywhere until the police arrive.”
