Chapter 3 - The Ghost on the Screen
The glowing screen of the encrypted phone illuminated the shadows of Evelyn’s private office, casting strange, dancing reflections across the mahogany desk. The single line of text read: The river never forgets what the fire tried to hide. Evelyn’s thumb hovered over the keyboard, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She could hear the muffled sounds of the gala filtering through the heavy oak door—the polite applause, the rising swell of a string quartet—a world away from the suffocating reality closing in on her.
She pressed the power button, plunging the room into darkness, then switched on her desk lamp. The warm amber glow exposed the pristine order of her workspace, a reflection of the control she had fought so hard to maintain over the last decade. But control was an illusion now. In her palm, the artificial peach peony flower and the tiny microchip sat like relics from an archaeological dig of her own sins.
The door clicked open. Julian slipped inside without knocking, locking the heavy brass latch behind him. His face, usually so composed in the boardroom, was etched with a desperate weariness.
"You shouldn't have brought the child into this, Julian," Evelyn said without turning around, her eyes fixed on the glowing screen. "If you wanted to remind me of Maya, you could have just said her name."
"I didn't give Clara that flower," Julian said quietly, walking toward the desk. He stopped a few feet away, keeping his hands visible, palms open. "Evelyn, I loved Maya too. You know that. When she fell through the ice that night, a part of us both died out there. I covered it up to protect you, not to bury her."
"You covered it up to protect your political campaign," Evelyn snapped, finally turning to face him. The glittering sequins of her gown caught the lamp light, sparkling with cruel brilliance. "You didn't want the scandal of a police investigation into the family estate. You let them call it an accident."
"It was an accident!" Julian’s voice rose, cracking slightly before he reined it in. He took a cautious breath, his eyes pleading. "The ice was thin. She shouldn't have been down by the boathouse alone."
"She wasn't alone," a small voice piped up from the corner of the room.
Evelyn and Julian both gasped, spinning toward the dark alcove near the velvet curtains. Clara stepped out from the shadows, her shiny beige dress rustling softly. She was holding a small, old-fashioned silver locket, the metal dulled by time.
"Someone was waiting for her," Clara whispered, opening the locket to reveal a tiny, scorched photograph. "And they're waiting for you outside, too."
May you like
Before Julian could lunge toward the child, the office window shattered inward with a deafening crash, showering the room in glittering shards of safety glass.
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