Chapter 7 - The Ghost from the PastMy hand instinctively moved to the heavy brass letter opener on my desk, my muscles tensing as I faced the elevator doors.
Rosa backed away, clutching her breath in her throat. "Mr. Carter... who could have that code? Adrian was arrested!"
"Adrian wasn't the only one," I whispered, my eyes locked on the glowing digital display above the doors.
The numbers ticked upward: 35, 36, 37, 38.
Penthouse floor.
Ding.
The heavy steel doors slid open with a smooth, soundless hiss.
Standing in the doorway was not a police officer, not a federal agent, and not a ghost. It was a woman dressed in an impeccably tailored black Chanel suit, holding a leather briefcase. Her dark hair was styled in a sharp, flawless bob, and her lips curled into a cold, chillingly familiar smile.
Elena.
My first wife. The woman who had supposedly died in a tragic private jet crash off the coast of Maine five years ago.
May you like
I stood frozen, the blood turning to ice in my veins.
"Hello, Nathan," Elena said smoothly, stepping out of the elevator as if she owned the place. "Did you really think a little pyrotechnics and a burning wreckage could keep me away from what is rightfully mine?"
