Chapter 2 - The Wax Seal
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The interior of my rusted Honda Civic was freezing, the heater struggling to push warm air through the vents. I strapped Lily securely into her car seat in the back, making sure her little red coat was zipped all the way up to her chin. She looked at me with wide, innocent eyes, completely unaware that our entire world was currently resting on the passenger seat in the form of a sealed envelope.
I sat behind the steering wheel for a long time, watching my breath plume in the cold air. The streetlamps cast long, distorted shadows across the snow-covered suburban lawns.
I reached over and picked up the envelope. It was made of thick, expensive cream parchment. The return address was printed in sharp, minimalist silver lettering: The Office of Arthur Sterling.
My hands shook so violently I could barely turn it over. On the back, just as Chloe had said, was a heavy black wax seal stamped with the Sterling family crest—a wolf surrounded by thorns.
I broke the seal.
Inside was a single, typed letter and a smaller, handwritten note. I unfolded the typed document first. It was a formal legal notice from a wealth management firm.
Dear Ms. Vance, this letter serves as the final quarterly notification regarding the irrevocable trust established for the minor child, Lily Vance. As previously stated in all prior correspondence, the monthly disbursement of $25,000 has been successfully routed to the custodial account managed by Evelyn Vance.
My heart stopped.
I read the numbers again. Twenty-five thousand dollars. A month.
I couldn't breathe. My mind raced back over the last eight months. The nights I had cried myself to sleep because I couldn't afford name-brand formula. The humiliating conversations with my landlord begging for an extension on my rent. The shifts I worked at the diner, leaving my newborn in the care of a neighbor because I couldn't afford a real babysitter.
All while my mother, Evelyn Vance, had been collecting a small fortune in my daughter's name.
I dropped the legal document and opened the handwritten note. The handwriting was sharp, aggressive, and undeniably Arthur's.
Sarah, my lawyers tell me you still refuse to grant me visitation rights. I respect that you hate me for what happened, but I will not stop funding her life. I will never stop looking out for my daughter. Let me see her. — Arthur.
He didn't abandon us.
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He had been fighting for us. He had been paying for us. And my mother had orchestrated a masterclass in deception to keep us apart and pocket the money.
A dark, terrifying rage ignited in my chest. I started the engine, slamming the car into drive. The woman who had just let herself be insulted at the dinner table was dead.
