Chapter 2 - THE MIDNIGHT DRIVEThe Pacific Coast Highway was slick with a coastal mist that blurred the headlights of oncoming traffic. Robert’s Porsche tore through the darkness, the engine screaming as he pushed it far past safe limits.
His mind raced through the past two weeks. He remembered the way Laura moved through his family’s suffocating, mausoleum-like estate—not like an employee tiptoeing around a tyrant, but like a restorer gently cleaning centuries of soot off a forgotten masterpiece. He remembered how she had looked at him when he accused her, not with anger, but with a crushing, absolute disappointment that burned worse than rage.
“Nothing I say tonight will change the story you have chosen to believe.”
He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. He had chosen the story that required the least emotional risk. It was easier to suspect her of greed than to admit that a stranger could walk into his house and bring back the warmth he had lost the day his mother died.
When the iron gates of the Santa Barbara estate finally loomed ahead, they didn't open automatically for him. The security system had been locked down.
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Robert laid on the horn, the jagged sound echoing against the sculpted hedges and the dark, looming silhouette of the mansion.
Moments later, the side gate clicked open. Celia stood there wrapped in a heavy wool shawl, her face carved from stone. She didn't look at Robert with respect; she looked at him like a disappointed judge.
