Chapter 3 - Poison in the WellMy jaw dropped. The lead prosecutor on my mother’s case—the man who fought tooth and nail to secure her death sentence—was the son of the man funding my uncle.
I backed away from the door slowly, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The corruption ran so much deeper than a simple family dispute. My father hadn't just stumbled into a minor financial crime; he had uncovered a syndicate operating at the highest levels of the state's legal system.
Ten minutes later, Vance walked back into the room. His face was unreadable, completely devoid of the righteous indignation he usually wore on television.
"Miss Ava, Ethan," Vance said smoothly, though a faint sweat gleamed on his forehead. "Due to conflict of interest concerns brought to my attention tonight, I am officially recusing myself from this case. A special prosecutor will be appointed. However, Marcus's defense team is already filing for his release on bail. Since Ethan's testimony is uncorroborated by physical evidence after six years, the judge is likely to grant it."
"You're letting him go?!" I shouted, standing up so fast my chair scraped violently against the floor. "He threatened my brother! He framed my mother!"
"Allegedly," Vance corrected sharply. "Without the original physical evidence linking Marcus to the scene, it is a minor's word against a respected businessman with no prior criminal record. You two need to go home."
Home. Home was the massive house Marcus had bought three years ago using "investments." Home was where all of our belongings were. Home was where Marcus would be returning the moment his bail bond cleared.
"We aren't going back there," I said, grabbing Ethan's hand.
"You don't have a choice, Ava," Vance said, a sinister edge creeping into his tone. "You're nineteen, but Ethan is still a legal minor under Marcus's legal guardianship. Until a court strips him of custody, he dictates where Ethan sleeps."
My blood ran cold. The system wasn't broken; it was designed to protect them.
We left the station under the cover of darkness. Refusing to go back to Marcus’s estate, I took the tiny bit of money I had saved from my part-time library job and checked us into a dilapidated motel on the outskirts of the city.
Ethan fell asleep almost instantly, exhausted by the sheer weight of the confession he had carried for six years. I sat on the edge of the squeaky bed, staring at my phone.
I opened my backpack and pulled out the small leather binder I had kept with me. Inside were the hundreds of letters my mother had sent me over the years. I had never opened them. I had only kept them out of a morbid, guilty obsession.
With shaking fingers, I tore open the last letter she had sent—the one that had arrived just two weeks before her scheduled execution.
My dearest Ava,
If you are reading this, it means time has run out. I don't blame you for hating me. If I were in your shoes, looking at the evidence, I might have doubted me too. But I need you to do one thing for me before I am gone.
Don't look in the house. Don't look in my room. Look where your father used to hide his real work—under the floorboards of the old greenhouse behind your grandmother’s abandoned cabin in Mill Creek. He was terrified, Ava. Not of the dark, but of the men wearing suits.
Protect Ethan. Don't trust Marcus.
I love you beyond the stars. Mom.
I gasped, dropping the letter. She had warned me. She had explicitly warned me about Marcus in a letter I was too stubborn, too arrogant, too hurt to read.
Suddenly, the headlights of a heavy SUV illuminated the translucent curtains of our motel room.
May you like
I froze. Engine idling outside.
I crept toward the window and parted the blinds by a fraction of an inch. Standing under the flickering neon sign of the motel was Marcus, holding a heavy iron crowbar in his right hand.
