Chapter 5 - The Return from the DeepThe heavy glass double doors of the boardroom swung open with a slow, deliberate click.
All twenty heads snapped toward the entrance.
I stepped into the room.
I wore a sharp, tailored charcoal-grey trench coat over an ivory silk blouse, my hair pulled back into a sleek, commanding ponytail. The pale scars of the nylon rope were visible around my left wrist, peeking out from beneath my sleeve like a badge of absolute survival.
The silence that hit the room was absolute, suffocating, and total.
My father jerked backward so hard his leather chair tipped over, crashing loudly against the oak paneling. He stared at me as if a phantom had clawed its way up from the underworld, his face turning the color of ash.
Claire dropped her phone; it clattered against the table, shattering the screen protector.
And Grant—arrogant, untouchable Grant—froze completely. The color drained from his face until he looked like a corpse. His jaw dropped, and he stumbled backward into the wall, gasping for air as his eyes bulged in pure, unadulterated terror.
“E-Evelyn...?” Grant choked out, his voice cracking into a high-pitched, pathetic squeak. “No... no, that’s impossible... we saw you go down...”
I walked slowly down the center aisle, my heels clicking rhythmically against the polished marble floor. The sound echoed off the high glass walls like hammer strikes.
When I reached the head of the table, I stopped right beside my paralyzed brother.
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I leaned in close, my voice dropping to an icy, razor-sharp whisper that carried across the entire silent room:
“You should’ve checked whether the lake actually killed me, Grant.”
