Chapter 11 - Shadows of the Past
The ink on the corporate restructuring documents was barely dry when the first anonymous letter arrived at my penthouse.
It slipped quietly beneath the heavy mahogany front door on a rainy Tuesday evening, tucked inside a plain manila envelope with no return address. Inside lay a single Polaroid photograph and a typed note that chilled my blood faster than the Colorado wind ever could.
The photograph showed Leo’s nursery—the exact room on the second floor of my gated estate, viewed from the darkened backyard garden through the open glass pane.
The note read: “You survived the cliff, Elena. But a fortress is only as strong as the people guarding the gates.”
Panic flared in my chest, hot and sharp, but I forced it down, drawing on the cold steel reserve that had pulled me up from that icy ledge. Michael was locked away in a maximum-security federal penitentiary three states away. He had no access to outside communications, no money for hitmen, and no allies left in Denver.
Or so I had thought.
I walked immediately to the nursery, where my mother was rocking Leo to sleep, humming a soft lullaby. I checked every lock, verified the perimeter security feeds, and called Marcus Vance immediately.
"I want a full sweep of the estate security," I told him, my voice dangerously low over the encrypted line. "Every camera, every motion sensor, every private guard. Someone is watching us."
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"Consider it done," Marcus replied grimly. "Do you think Michael has an accomplice we missed?"
"I don't know," I said, staring out into the pitch-black rainswept yard. "But we're about to find out."
