Chapter 2

Then I heard the sound of the front door opening downstairs.

Gordon was back.

His shoes struck the floor in hurried and uneven steps. He ran upstairs, still wearing his suit jacket, his tie hanging crookedly to one side.

When he saw me standing there with my backpack, he was shocked. "Nicole?"

He licked his lips, swallowing. "Did you call them?"

He didn't even dare say who "them" was referring to.

For the first time, I looked him straight in the face.

He hadn't treated me particularly well over the past ten years, but he hadn't treated me badly either. He never hit me or yelled at me. He was neither warm nor cold.

Every holiday, he would give me a gift, but the worth was always exactly half of what Daniel received.

Now, the expression on his face suddenly made me understand something.

He knew it. He had always known it.

He knew exactly who I was, where I came from, and who was backing me.

He knew I wasn't an orphan, but he never told Daniel or others.

He had kept me in this small room, dressed me in Daniel's hand-me-downs, and let him believe I was nothing more than a freeloader.

He said, "Nicole, no rush. Let's talk, okay?"

Suddenly, his phone rang.

He glanced down at the screen. The next second, every trace of color drained from his face.

His hand started to shake.

I didn't bother to look at what was on his phone. I grabbed my bag and headed downstairs.

The front door was open, and there was a black car waiting outside. I couldn't recognize the logo, but the matte finish caught the streetlight.

A middle-aged man in a black uniform got out of the driver's seat and gave me a slight bow. "Miss Sutton, please get in."

Gordon's cracked, hoarse voice sounded behind me. "Nicole, wait."

I didn't stop.

I slid into the back seat. The moment the door shut, all the noise from inside disappeared.

The car started up and pulled away.

In the rearview mirror, Gordon stood at the entrance of the house, looking defeated.

Linda was clutching the doorframe, her legs giving out as she slowly slid to the ground.

I turned my head away and didn't look back.

The leather seat beneath me was so soft that it felt like sitting on a cloud. I lowered my eyes to my sneakers. There was a hole worn through the toe, and I could make out the sock beneath it.

Then I closed my eyes.

Ten years. It was time to go home.

*****

The car drove for forty minutes before turning onto a palm-lined road. The canopies formed an arching tunnel overhead, filtering the streetlights into scattered patches of light across the car windows.

Then the view suddenly opened up. A mansion loomed at the end of the drive.

The iron gates slowly slid open, and the car drove in along a stone-paved driveway.

The lawn stretched out into the night, dark green and trimmed with such precision that it looked as though every blade had been measured. The sound of the fountain carried clearly through the quiet night.

The main house glowed, warm light spilling from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The car came to a stop. The driver stepped out and opened my door. "Miss Sutton, we've arrived."

I got out, my sneakers making a soft squeak on the road.

A line of people stood on the steps of the front porch, all dressed in matching black-and-white uniforms. They bowed in unison. "Welcome home, Miss Sutton."

I stood there, stunned. It was like my feet were glued to the ground.

At the very top of the steps, an old man sat in a wheelchair.

He wore a navy blue jacket, his hair gray, but his back was ramrod straight. His hands rested on the armrests, knuckles gnarled and covered in age spots.

However, his eyes were sharp and deep, like they could see straight through me.

The moment he looked at me, something flickered in his eyes. "Nicole."

His voice was just like it had been on the phone, old and slightly trembling.

Hearing it face-to-face made my nose sting. I walked up the steps and crouched down in front of him.

He reached out and pressed his rough palm against my cheek. His hand was surprisingly warm.

"You've lost weight," he said.

That was all he said before his lips pressed tightly together. His jaw clenched hard, and the vein at his forehead throbbed.

He was holding back, and so was I.

The butler behind him handed over a towel, but I didn't take it.

"Grandpa." My voice was low. "How did my parents die?"

His hand went stiff. The palm resting on my face tightened slightly.

The servants around us all held their breath. The only sound was the fountain.

"Let's go inside." He pulled his hand back, and the wheelchair turned toward the house.

*****

In the study, the fireplace was burning. He told everyone to leave, including the butler.

"Ten years ago, on the night your parents died in that car accident, there was a heavy snowstorm." His voice was flat, like he was reading from an old file.

"The highway was closed. They were supposed to stay at a hotel for the night and leave the next morning." He paused. The wood in the fireplace made a sharp crackling sound. "But Gordon made a call."

My fingernails dug into my knees.

"The Reed family's biggest overseas order had a problem. The other party wanted to see a guarantee letter before midnight, or they would break the contract.

"Gordon didn't have the qualifications to provide one. Your father did." He looked at me. "He drove back that night. Your mother was in the passenger seat. The highway was icy, and the car went off the guardrail."

The firelight from the fireplace flickered across his face.

His hands tightened around the wheelchair, trembling. "I sent you to the Reed family to see if the family your parents gave their lives for was worth it."

He closed his eyes. "Ten years. The answer is clear."

I didn't cry. My eyes were dry enough to ache, while a burning sensation churned in my stomach and rose all the way into my throat.

Gordon's face kept flashing through my mind. He knew it. He knew everything from the very beginning.

He knew who I was, how my parents died, and that every cent their family owned was built on my parents' lives.

Still, his son called me a sensitive freeloader.

I stood up. "Grandpa, I don't want their lives. I want to take back everything that belongs to us."

My grandpa opened his eyes and looked at me for a long time.

Then he nodded. "The Sutton family has everything ready for you."

He pressed a button on the wheelchair armrest, and the butler, Luis, pushed the door open.

My grandpa said, "Starting tomorrow, cut off all funding channels connected to the Reed Group."

Luis bowed. "Got it."

"Don't cut it all off at once." My grandpa looked at the fire in the fireplace. "Pull the strings one by one. Let them feel every bit of it slowly."