Chapter 18 - Unmasked Truths
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On a cool autumn evening, one year after the attack, I sat in the sunlit parlor of my new brownstone in West Village.
Rachel Mercer sat across from me, sipping a cup of tea. She had resigned from the music industry entirely, choosing instead to live a quiet life managing a charitable arts non-profit in upstate New York.
"Have you heard from Logan's lawyers?" Rachel asked softly, setting her porcelain teacup down.
"They sent another appeal request last week," I said, looking out the window at the falling amber leaves. "I denied it. He's serving every single day of those twenty-five years."
"You look beautiful, Maya," Rachel said genuinely, her gaze resting on the faint silver scars along my cheek. "Really."
"I feel free, Rachel," I smiled faintly. "That's better than beautiful."
Her phone chimed on the coffee table. She picked it up, glanced at the screen, and frowned slightly before setting it back down.
"What is it?" I asked, noticing the sudden tension in her posture.
"Nothing," Rachel said quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Just an alert from my father's estate lawyers regarding the final division of property."
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I watched her eyes carefully. After everything I had survived, I had learned to read the subtle flickers of deception in human body language like a second language.
"Rachel," I said, my voice dropping into a quiet, firm register. "What was that message?"
