Chapter 11 - The Postmark from HellThe private office on the top floor of Sterling Global Enterprises was dead silent, save for the rhythmic humming of the air conditioning. Claire stared down at the crisp white envelope resting on her mahogany desk.
The postmark read: Maximum Security Federal Penitentiary. The return address bore a single inmate number. Ethanās number.
Her fingers hovered over the paper. Ever since she took control of the empire, she had forced herself to lock the trauma of that night in a mental vault. She had defeated Eleanor; she had put Ethan behind bars. The nightmare was supposed to be over.
Slowly, she slid her letter opener beneath the flap and pulled out a single sheet of heavy cardstock. Written in Ethanās erratic, sharp handwriting was a message that made the blood freeze in her veins:
āClaire. You thought the game ended on the roof? You inherited the bricks, but you never owned the foundation. Check the foundation stone in the East Wing library. What my father buried there will tell you why your parentsā car accident wasn't an accident... and why Eleanor kept you alive all these years. Tick-tock, little bird.ā
Claireās breath hitched. She dropped the letter as if it were burning hot.
Her parentsā death. The crash that left her an orphan at age five, before the Sterlings graciously āadoptedā her out of charity. It was a tragedy she had mourned her entire life.
May you like
Or so she had been told.
Without thinking, Claire grabbed her designer handbag, strode out of her office past a stunned board of directors, and hailed a private car back to the Sterling Estate.
