Chapter 3 - The Garza Legacy
The collision rattled Ava’s teeth. Lily shrieked, clinging tightly to Ava’s waist.
Roman barely swayed. He pressed a button on his armrest, and a thick steel partition rolled up, sealing the passenger cabin from the front seats. He pulled a spare magazine from his vest, slapped it into his pistol, and looked out the reinforced rear window.
Behind them, two dark sedans with blacked-out windows were tailgating the armored SUV, their high beams blindingly bright in the side mirrors.
“Who are those people?” Ava cried out, shielding Lily with her arms. Her heart was beating so fast she felt lightheaded. “If you think I’m your daughter, why are people trying to kill me?”
“Because my empire is not built on beef and oil, Ava,” Roman said flatly, pulling a tablet from the side compartment and checking a live GPS map. “It’s built on bloodlines. The Garza Trust controls four billion dollars in South Texas assets. Under my late father’s will, if I do not have a direct, legitimate biological heir of full Garza blood by my forty-fifth birthday... the entire estate forfeits to my stepbrother.”
Ava’s eyes widened. “Your forty-fifth birthday...”
“Is tomorrow at midnight,” Roman said, looking at his watch. “For three years, I believed Lily was my only blood. But three weeks ago, an anonymous tip brought me a piece of paper—a stolen lab report from South Side General. The child I took home three years ago, Lily... isn't biologically related to me at all.”
Ava gasped, looking down at the little girl clinging to her apron. “What?”
“Lily was a decoy,” Roman said softly, his hard eyes softening for a fraction of a second as he looked at the child. “A switch made in the nursery. Someone took my real child—the child carrying the Garza genetic marker—and replaced her with a dying infant. But my child didn't die. She was given to an old woman on the South Side to raise as a nobody.”
“No...” Ava shook her head, tears finally overflowing her lashes. “No! My abuela raised me! She loves me! She wouldn't lie to me!”
“Your ‘abuela’ was a nurse at South Side General thirty years ago,” Roman countered ruthless accuracy. “Check her bank account, Ava. Every month on the first, ten thousand dollars is deposited into an offshore account in her name. Where does a retired nurse get that kind of money?”
The truth hit Ava like a physical punch. She remembered the fresh envelopes of cash her abuela always kept hidden inside the old upright piano. She remembered how her abuela never allowed her to get a passport, never allowed her to take a DNA test for her college genealogy project.
“Some secrets are meant to stay buried, mi vida,” her abuela used to say.
Suddenly, the SUV swerved violently to the left. The sound of metal grinding on metal filled the cabin as one of the sedans rammed them from the side, forcing their heavy vehicle toward the edge of the overpass.
Through the tinted glass of the side window, Ava caught a glimpse of the driver in the adjacent sedan.
It was a man with a sharp, regal face, wearing a gray suit, clutching a silver-plated revolver. He looked directly at Ava and smiled—a cold, cruel smile.
May you like
“Julian...” Roman spat, his jaw tightening so hard the veins in his neck bulged. “My stepbrother.”
Julian raised his gun and aimed directly at the SUV’s tire.
