Chapter 2 - The Crimson EnvelopeMy blood ran colder than the rain on the day of Thomas's funeral. I stared at the glowing phone screen, the cryptic text burning into my retinas.
The crash wasn’t an accident.
I bolted into the baby’s room. Twelve-day-old Leo was fast asleep in his crib, his tiny chest rising and falling in rhythmic peace. I stood guard over him, my heart hammering like a trapped bird against my ribs. Who sent that text? Was it Philip? Margaret? Or someone far more dangerous lurking in the shadows of the Miller empire?
Suddenly, a loud crash shattered the silence from the back of the house.
Glass shattered in the kitchen.
I grabbed Leo, wrapping him tightly in a blanket, and slid a concealed kitchen knife from the drawer under his changing table—a habit I had picked up since Thomas died. Stepping quietly down the hardwood hallway, I peeked around the corner into the living room.
The French doors leading to the patio were smashed inward. Rain poured through the broken glass, soaking the rug. Standing in the center of the room was a tall, imposing figure drenched in water, wearing a dark trench coat.
It wasn't a hitman. It was Marcus Vance—the estranged, black-sheep half-brother of Thomas, whom the family had cast out fifteen years ago after he tried to blow the whistle on Margaret’s financial corruption.
"Put the knife down, Blair," Marcus said, his voice raspy and exhausted. He raised his hands, showing blood dripping from his knuckles. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm the one who sent the text."
"How did you get in here?!" I demanded, tightening my grip on the handle, keeping Leo tucked safely behind my chest. "If you take one step closer, I swear to God—"
"Thomas didn't die because his brakes failed, Blair!" Marcus interrupted, his voice laced with desperate urgency. "Look at the police report! Look at the autopsy report you were handed by the family lawyer! They told you his body was burned beyond recognition, right? They rushed the cremation within forty-eight hours!"
"Because Margaret insisted on it!" I shouted over the sound of the wind howling through the broken door.
"No! Because the man in that car wasn't Thomas!"
The room seemed to freeze. The ambient sound of the storm faded into a muffled roar.
"What... what are you talking about?" I whispered, my knees trembling.
Marcus reached inside his coat and pulled out a thick, waterlogged crimson envelope. He tossed it onto the glass coffee table between us.
"Thomas knew they were going to kill him," Marcus said grimly. "When he realized Philip had embezzled seventy million dollars from the offshore accounts, Thomas threatened to go to the Department of Justice. That night, Philip and Margaret staged the car crash. But Thomas caught wind of it. He placed a homeless man’s corpse—already obtained from a black-market morgue—in the driver's seat and torched the car himself to fake his death and escape."
"No... no, that's impossible," I breathed, tears welling in my eyes. "I held his casket! I buried him!"
"You buried an empty box stuffed with sand and medical waste to meet the weight requirements," Marcus revealed brutally. "Thomas had to run to stay alive. But he left something behind for you. Inside that envelope is the key to a safe deposit box at Zurich Swiss Bank. But Philip knows about it now. He thinks the key is hidden inside the Patek Philippe watch Thomas 'gave' him."
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Suddenly, the headlights of three black Escalades illuminated the dark driveway outside my house. Red laser sight dots danced across the living room walls.
"They tracked me here," Marcus cursed under his breath, drawing a silenced handgun from his belt. "Get down! They aren't here for the money anymore, Blair. They know Thomas is alive, and they know your baby is the only leverage they have to force Thomas out of hiding!"
