“Yes,” Blake agrees solemnly.
“This is enough to destroy him?” I hope.
"This is enough to destroy all of those motherfuckers.”
The third folder is labeled INSURANCE.
Inside is a video file.
My hands hover over the mouse. I'm not sure I want to see this. Not sure I can handle whatever my mother left behind.
But I click anyway.
The video starts.
My mother's face fills the screen. She looks tired, scared, but determined. She's sitting in what looks like a hotel room, hair pulled back, no makeup, wearing a sweater I remember from childhood. For the first time ever, I can clearly see myself in her.
"Peyton." Her voice cracks. "If you're watching this, it means I didn't make it. It means they got to me before I could finish what I started."
Tears blur my vision. I feel Blake's hand on the back of my neck, steady, grounding.
"I'm so sorry that I wasn't stronger, baby. That I wasn't smarter or careful enough." She takes a shaky breath. "But I need you to know the truth about who you are, about what you're entitled to, and about why they're so afraid of you."
She leans closer to the camera, and I see it now—the fear in her eyes, the certainty that time is running out.
"You're a Kingsley by blood. Yes, I know that sounds absurd, but the truth is often stranger than fiction. I’ve done the research. You’re a direct descendant of Catherine Kingsley-Morrison, your great-grandmother. There's a clause in the Kingsley family trust, Article Seven, Section Three, that grants you proxy authority if you claim your inheritance during Christmas week. They buried it, hoping no one would ever find it. But I found it, Peyton. And now you need to use it."
“I don’t understand why Grandma Catherine’s heirs were provided for in a trust if she was expelled from the family, but that doesn’t matter right now.” She pulls out some papers and holds them to the camera. "This is everything you need. Proof of lineage. Documentation of their corruption."
Her hands are shaking. I can see it even through the screen.
"They'll come for you," she says. "The Kingsleys, the men of the Hollow Club, maybe even people you trust. These are families that have controlled this town since its inception. Families I never had interaction with living on the outskirts of their world. But what I’ve learned is that they'll offer you deals, threaten you, and try to make you believe you're not strong enough to fight them."
She leans even closer, and now her eyes are fierce, burning with something that looks like rage and love twisted together.
"Don't believe them. You're my daughter. You're a Kingsley, whether they acknowledge it or not, and you're stronger than any of them will ever be."
A tear slides down her cheek. She wipes it away impatiently.
"I love you, Peyton. I'm so proud of who you are. Who you'll become. And I'm sorry I won't be there to see it." Her voice breaks. "But you don't need me. You never did. You just needed to know the truth."
She reaches for the camera.
"Finish this. Claim what's ours. Remind them that the Morrison side of the family doesn’t play fair and can fight dirty. Burn them down if you have to. Just promise me you'll survive. Because at the end of the day, that’s all that matters.”
The screen goes black.
I'm crying. I can't help it, and I can't stop it. Tears stream down my face as I stare at the empty screen where my mother's ghost just spoke to me from three years ago.
Blake pulls me into his arms, and I collapse against him, sobbing into his chest while he holds me together.
"She knew," I choke out. "She knew they were going to kill her, and she did it anyway."
"She did it for you."
"And they murdered her for it. Paid people off. Covered it up. Made it look like an accident." Rage burns through the grief, hot and clarifying. "They killed my mother because she found out the truth."
"Yes."
