Chapter 5 - The Ledger of SecretsThe next morning, sunlight streamed lazily through the sheer curtains of the guest bedroom.
I woke up with a dull headache and a knot of dread twisting in my stomach. I knew what waited for me on the other side of that door: screaming, passive-aggressive slamming of cabinet doors, and an ultimatum that would likely end with me packing my bags and moving back into our parents' cramped basement.
I opened the bedroom door cautiously. The apartment was dead silent.
A sleek, black leather overnight bag sat by the front door, and Victoria’s car keys were missing from the bowl. A small sticky note was plastered to the kitchen island in bright pink ink: Gone to the gallery. Don't touch my things.
She had fled to work to avoid me, unwilling to face the reality that her younger sister had finally stood up to her.
I let out a long, shuddering breath of relief. I brewed a cup of black coffee, sat down at the small glass dining table, and pulled my worn leather sketchbook out of my tote bag.
Flipping past several charcoal sketches of skyline views and oil-painting studies, my fingers stopped at the back pages. Hidden beneath a false paper lining glued to the inside cover was a folded manila envelope.
Inside were photocopies of property deeds, municipal zoning permits, and bank transfer receipts.
Three months ago, while restoring a nineteenth-century oil painting for a private client who happened to be a senior city archivist, I had stumbled across an archived urban development file that had accidentally been misfiled under historical restorations. It detailed a massive, multi-million-dollar land grab in the South Loop—land that had been illegally seized from small business owners through forged signatures and shell corporation fronts.
The primary beneficiary of those shell companies?
Vance Enterprises. Owned and operated by none other than Victoria Vance—my sister, who somehow managed to fund her lavish lifestyle, designer dresses, and sports cars on a salary that mathematically made zero sense.
I stared at the documents, my chest tightening. I had kept them because my gut instinct screamed that something was profoundly wrong, but I had been too terrified to go to the authorities. In Chicago, crossing people like the ones backing Vance Enterprises was a quick ticket to the bottom of Lake Michigan.
My phone buzzed loudly on the table, shattering the morning quiet.
I jumped, nearly spilling my coffee.
The screen flashed with an incoming call from an unknown, restricted number.
My thumb hovered over the decline button for three full seconds before my curiosity—or perhaps my fate—forced me to swipe answer.
"Hello?" I said cautiously.
“Good morning, Emily.”
Mason’s deep, velvet voice resonated through the speaker, immediate and arresting, as if he were standing right beside me in the kitchen.
"Mr. Bennett," I stammered, scrambling to my feet. "How did you—"
“I own a telecommunications firm, Emily. Finding a ten-digit phone number is the least impressive thing I’ll do today.” A faint, low chuckle came through the line. “Are you free for breakfast? Or should I send a car to pick you up?”
"I... I can't," I said quickly, my panic flaring. "I have to get to the art gallery. I have restoration work waiting, and my sister—"
“Your sister is currently sitting in a board meeting across town trying to secure a commercial real estate lease she has no legal right to,” Mason interrupted smoothly. “Which means you have an empty apartment and twenty minutes before my driver arrives downstairs.”
"Mr. Bennett, you can't just—"
“I can, and I just did. Wear something comfortable. We're going somewhere quiet.”
The line clicked dead.
I dropped the phone onto the table, staring at it in absolute bewilderment. He wasn't just intimidating; he was a freight train with no brakes.
May you like
True to his word, exactly nineteen minutes later, a sleek black town car pulled up outside the apartment building. When I stepped hesitantly through the lobby doors, the driver—a towering man in a dark suit with an earpiece—stepped out, opened the rear door, and bowed his head respectfully.
"Miss Vance. Mr. Bennett is expecting you."
