The trap is closed.
Now, it’s time to collect the prize.
3
HELENA
The Blackwood Estate is quiet, but it doesn't feel calm.
It’s 3:14 AM.
I’m sitting on the foyer floor, my back against the cold marble of the grand staircase. My laptop is open on my knees. The blue light of the screen is the only light in the dark hall.
The heating in the west wing died three hours ago. The chill is settling into my bones, but I can't bring myself to move.
I hit refresh on my email. Nothing.
I hit refresh on the bank portal. Still nothing.
Just the same glaring red numbers. The same terrifying notification from Apex Heavy Industries that arrived at midnight, threatening to sue us.
Every hour our ship sits in the harbor, we bleed money we don't have.
I’ve spent the last four hours calling everyone—the harbor master, the union rep, the port director.
No one answers. It's as if the entire city is ghosting me.
And my father is gone with fifty thousand dollars of stolen payroll.
I’ve called his cell phone twenty times. Straight to voicemail.
I’ve called the hospitals. Nothing.
I’ve called the police sergeant, a man my father has bribed for years. He’s not in the drunk tank.
Please let him be at a hotel,I pray, though I don't believe it.Please let him be passed out at the Ritz.
But in my gut, I know he isn't. The look in his eyes wasn't that of a man looking for a party.
I turn my screen off.
My reflection stares back from the dark screen. Hollow eyes. Pale skin. A ghost haunting my own house.
I stand up and begin to pace. The click of my heels on the marble echoes in the dark.
Maybe I should just leave,a voice whispers in my head.Pack a bag. Take the car. Drive until the gas runs out and start over as a waitress in a town where the name Blackwood means nothing.
But then I spy the portrait hanging above the fireplace.
My mother. She’s watching me.
I remember this room when she was alive. I remember her sitting at the dining table at 2:00 AM, surrounded by blueprints. I remember the way she charmed the union bosses, the way she stared down the bankers. She built this empire from a single tugboat.
Arthur? He was just the face.
Since the funeral, he hasn't built a single thing. He only destroys. He has spent five years chipping away at the foundation she poured, trading her sweat for whiskey and poker.
If I leave, I let him win. I let his weakness erase her strength.
