Chapter 2 - The Ghost of Oak Street"You."
Clara’s voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the howling wind with the piercing sharpness of a blade. She pushed the car door open all the way, the rusted hinges groaning in protest, and stumbled out into the rain. She stood before Malcolm, soaked to the bone, her posture rigid despite the violent shivering of her frame.
"You destroyed my father. You stole his company, you left us with nothing, and now you’ve tracked us down to finish the job?" Clara hissed, stepping up to the billionaire, unafraid of his wealth, his status, or his towering height. "What do you want, Malcolm Reed? Did you miss a brick? Did you forget to demolish something?"
"Clara, listen to me—" Malcolm started, holding his hands up defensively.
"Don't you dare say my name!" she screamed, her voice cracking as hot tears mixed with the cold rain streaming down her face. "Do you know what it’s like to watch everything your father built get auctioned off for pennies? Do you know what it’s like to watch him die of a broken heart on a courtroom floor while your lawyers smiled? And now you're here. Why? Did Evie bother you? Did my little girl cross into your pristine, guarded little world and ruin your view?"
Back at the car, the rear door clicked open.
Evie slipped out from the backseat, ignoring the rain, and ran across the pavement straight into Clara’s arms.
"Mommy! Mommy, don't yell at him! He didn't hurt me! He was nice!" Evie sobbed, burying her face into her mother's soaked jacket.
Clara dropped to her knees in the mud, wrapping her arms around her daughter so fiercely it seemed as though she wanted to fuse their bodies back together. She looked up at Malcolm, her eyes burning with an intense, agonizing fury.
"Take your money, take your guilt, and get out of our sight," Clara spat, pulling Evie backward toward the rusted car. "We don't need your charity. We survived two years on these streets without a single dime from a monster like you, and we'll survive tonight."
"Clara, stop!" Malcolm commanded, his voice carrying the deep, authoritative resonance that usually commanded boardrooms of terrified executives.
Clara paused, her hand gripping the rusted door handle.
"Look around you," Malcolm said, stepping closer, his face stripped of all its corporate arrogance, leaving only raw, staggering shock. "Your daughter has been living in my attic for two days. She ate my food, she slept under my daughter's quilt, and she played with my child. And you... you are living in a metal coffin in the middle of a storm while I sit in a ten-million-dollar mansion three miles away."
Malcolm pulled off his expensive designer watch, letting it drop unceremoniously into the mud at Clara's feet.
"Your car’s battery is dead. Your tires are flat. You have no heat, no food, and no future if you stay in this alley for another twelve hours," Malcolm said, his voice dropping to a quiet, intense whisper. "You're coming with me."
Clara stared at the watch sparkling in the mud, then slowly raised her eyes to meet his.
May you like
"Go to hell, Malcolm Reed."
"I'm already there," Malcolm replied flatly. "And I'm not leaving without you."
