Chapter 2: The Message From a Stranger
The bedroom door opened before I could hide my phone.
Mia stood in the doorway, holding a silver clutch against her chest.
“Who were you texting?””
I locked my screen.
“Nobody.””
She looked past me at the mirror, then at the handbag resting on my bed.
“You look like you've seen a ghost.””
“Maybe I have.””
“Don't get smart with me, Claire.””
I zipped my bag and slipped the phone into my pocket.
“Then don't ask questions you don't want answered.””
For a moment, she looked genuinely startled.
Mia was accustomed to having the last word. In our house, her disappointment could ruin an entire evening, while my silence was interpreted as proof that I had nothing worth saying.
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
“Mom says Dad is acting weird because of you.””
“Your mom says a lot of things.””
“She says you made him cancel the apartment.””
I turned toward her.
“I didn't ask him to buy you an apartment.””
“He promised!””
“And then he changed his mind.””
“Because you suddenly started crying about your stupid dress!””
I looked at her white outfit, at the gold bracelet on her wrist, and at the expensive clutch she was crushing between her fingers.
“My dress wasn't stupid to me.””
Mia rolled her eyes.
“It was a dress.””
“It was the first thing I'd ever bought with money I earned myself that made me feel like I belonged at something important.””
“That's ridiculous.””
“Maybe.””
I walked past her toward the door.
“But at least I know what it feels like to work for something.””
She caught my wrist.
“Don't you dare act superior to me.””
I looked down at her fingers.
“Let go.””
“Tell me what Dad gave you.””
“Let go, Mia.””
She released me with a shove.
“You think you're better because your mother died and left you something?””
The room went silent.
Even Mia seemed to hear the ugliness of her own words.
My mother had been dead for nine years. I had spent those years learning how to live around an absence that never became smaller, only more familiar.
There were days when I could remember the exact sound of her laugh.
Other days, I struggled to recall the color of her eyes without looking at photographs.
Mia knew all of that.
She also knew that I had never once used my mother's death to demand anything from her.
“You should go,” I said.
She lifted her chin.
“Fine. But don't expect me to apologize for the dress. It was an accident.””
“Then why did you tell Mom you did it because I needed to learn a lesson?””
The color drained from her face.
I had heard those words through the kitchen door earlier that morning, before the shouting started.
Mia had thought I was upstairs.
She'd been wrong.
“I didn't say that.””
“You did.””
“You're twisting everything!””
“Then explain it.””
She opened her mouth, but no explanation came.
Instead, she snatched a tissue from the dresser and dabbed beneath her eyes.
“Mom said the dress was already ruined.””
I stared at her.
“What?””
“She said it was old-fashioned anyway. She said you'd never look good in it.””
The words hit harder than I expected.
“Rachel said that?””
Mia looked away.
“I'm not supposed to tell you.””
Something cold settled in my stomach.
“Why was Mom talking about my dress?””
“I don't know.””
“You just said she told you it was already ruined.””
“Because she did!””
“When?””
Mia's eyes flicked toward the door.
“Last night.””
I felt as though the floor had shifted beneath me.
Last night, Rachel had been in Dad's study searching through financial documents.
Last night, she had apparently been discussing my graduation dress with Mia.
And this morning, the dress had burned.
“Did Rachel tell you to set it on fire?””
Mia's mouth fell open.
“No!””
“Then what happened?””
She gripped her clutch so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
“I was trying to get the iron out of the way. The fabric caught. I panicked.””
“Where was the iron?””
“On the dresser.””
“Where was the dress?””
“On the bed.””
“And why were you in my room?””
She hesitated.
That hesitation told me more than any answer could have.
“What were you looking for, Mia?””
“Nothing.””
“Was it the key?””
Her eyes widened.
I hadn't intended to say it aloud.
For one brief second, she looked terrified.
Then her expression hardened.
“You're paranoid.””
She pushed past me and opened the door.
“Have fun at your graduation. I hope everyone asks why you look like you got dragged through a chimney.””
She left before I could answer.
I waited until her footsteps disappeared down the stairs.
Then I took out my phone.
The stranger's messages were still there.
*Don't let your father take you to that bank. He doesn't know what your mother really left behind.*
I typed a reply.
*Who are you?*
The response arrived almost immediately.
*Someone who promised Elena I would tell you the truth if Daniel ever started asking questions.*
My breath caught.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
*What truth?*
Three dots appeared, disappeared, then returned.
*Your mother's death was never investigated properly.*
I read the sentence three times.
My mother had died in a car accident on a rainy road outside the city. I'd been told that another driver had crossed the center line. She had been pronounced dead at the scene.
Dad had explained it to me in a hospital waiting room while Rachel sat beside him, rubbing his back.
I remembered the smell of disinfectant, the cold plastic chair, and the way Dad had covered his face with both hands.
For years, that memory had been the beginning of my grief.
Now a stranger was telling me it might have been the beginning of a lie.
I typed with trembling fingers.
*What is your name?*
The reply came with a photograph.
It showed a woman in her early forties standing outside a brick building. Her dark hair was tied back, and she wore a navy suit. She was holding a folder against her side.
I recognized her immediately.
Not from my childhood.
From the framed photographs in Dad's study.
She had stood beside my mother at charity events, birthday parties, and one summer picnic beside the lake.
*My name is Margaret Ellis. I was your mother's attorney.*
A second message followed.
*And Claire, if Daniel has given you the brass key, then Rachel has already begun.*
I stood so quickly that my handbag fell from the bed.
The key slipped out of its pocket and struck the floor.
I snatched it up.
“What are you doing?””
Dad stood in the doorway.
I jumped.
He glanced at my phone, then at the key in my hand.
“Claire?””
I struggled to speak.
“Dad, who is Margaret Ellis?””
The change in his expression was immediate.
His shoulders stiffened. His gaze moved to the phone, and for the first time since he'd given me the key, he looked genuinely afraid.
“Where did you hear that name?””
“She texted me.””
He crossed the room.
“Let me see.””
I stepped back.
“Why?””
“Because I need to know what she told you.””
“Is she really Mom's attorney?””
He stopped.
“Yes.””
“Then why have I never heard from her?””
“Because I asked her to leave you alone until you were older.””
“I'm twenty-two.””
“I know.””
“Then why is she contacting me now?””
He rubbed his forehead.
“Because I made a mistake.””
The words were so quiet that I almost missed them.
“What mistake?””
Dad looked at the key.
“I trusted the wrong person.””
Before I could ask him to explain, a voice came from downstairs.
“Daniel! The car is here!””
Rachel.
Dad glanced toward the hallway.
“Put the key away. Don't answer any more messages until we get through today.””
“Why?””
“Because if Margaret is involved, this is more complicated than I thought.””
He started to leave.
I caught his sleeve.
“Dad, did Mom's accident have something to do with Rachel?””
He went completely still.
For several seconds, he didn't move.
Then he turned to me.
“No,” he said.
But his voice cracked on the word.
I watched him walk away, carrying a secret that had followed him for nine years.
And as I stood alone in my bedroom, my phone vibrated one more time.
Margaret had sent another message.
*Your father is not the person you need to fear most.*
Below it was a photograph of a document.
At the top, in bold black letters, were the words:
*LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF ELENA MORGAN.*
At the bottom was my mother's signature.
Beside it was a handwritten note.
If anything happens to me, do not let Rachel take Claire to the lake house.
I stared at the screen until the words blurred.
Because my mother hadn't merely left me an inheritance.
May you like
She had left me a warning.
And someone in my family had spent nine years making sure I never saw it.
