Chapter 13 - Shadows from the PastBack in Brooklyn, life had settled into a rhythm of profound peace and domestic bliss. Liam was now crawling everywhere, a bundle of relentless curiosity and infectious giggles, while Maya was back to her freelance graphic design work, her creative projects filling our home with vibrant color.
However, the ripple effects of the high-profile criminal trial still lingered in the fringes of our lives.
One afternoon in late August, as I walked back from the local bakery with a bag of fresh pastries, a sleek black sedan parked illegally across from our brownstone caught my attention. The tinted windows rolled down halfway, revealing a pair of sharp, unfamiliar eyes watching our front entrance.
I stopped dead in my tracks, my instincts flaring instantly.
I crossed the street, walking purposefully toward the driver's side door, and tapped sharply on the glass.
The window glided down smoothly. Behind the wheel sat a middle-aged man in a sharp, expensive suit, holding a high-end digital camera equipped with a telephoto lens.
"Can I help you?" I asked, my voice hard as granite.
The man blinked, looking startled for a fraction of a second before recovering his professional composure. He flashed an ID badge dangling from his rearview mirror.
"Relax, Mr. Sterling. I’m Arthur Vance—no relation to Mark," he added quickly, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I’m a private investigator."
"Who hired you?" I demanded, my grip tightening on the pastry bag.
"An independent media syndication out of London," Arthur replied smoothly, pulling a business card from his breast pocket and offering it to me. "Since your mother and sister's trial made international headlines, European tabloids are tripping over themselves trying to piece together the full dynasty collapse. They want an exclusive feature on your company’s explosive growth post-scandal."
I looked at the card, then tossed it back through the open window onto his passenger seat.
"Tell your employers that my private life is closed for business," I said coldly. "If I catch you or any other camera crew within fifty yards of my home or my wife again, my lawyers won't just sue for harassment—they’ll own your agency."
The investigator didn't argue. He put the car in gear, hit the gas, and sped down the Brooklyn street, leaving me standing in the warm summer air.
When I walked inside, Maya was sitting at the kitchen island, looking at me with concern in her eyes.
May you like
"Was that another reporter?" she asked softly.
"Just a tabloid vulture," I said, walking over and wrapping my arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Let's pack a bag. This weekend, we’re driving up to the Hudson Valley. Just the three of us, completely off the grid."
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