Chapter 2 - Blackwood HouseMy father didn't come alone.

His wife, Melissa, stepped out of the SUV first.

Behind her was Cole.

My stepbrother.

The same boy who had been leaning back in his chair nine days earlier while my father told me to move out.

Cole looked different now.

Not guilty.

Not embarrassed.

Alarmed.

His eyes locked on the envelope.

“What is that?” he asked.

My father snapped, “Nathan, get in the car.”

I almost laughed.

Nine days ago, he had thrown me out.

Now he was asking me to come home.

I stepped closer to Richard.

“No.”

My father stopped.

“You don't understand what's happening.”

“I understand perfectly.”

“You're eighteen. You're confused.”

“I'm confused because nine days ago you said you wanted nothing to do with me.”

His face hardened.

“This isn't the place for this discussion.”

“It seems like exactly the right place.”

Melissa stepped forward.

“Nathan, listen to your father.”

I stared at her.

“You said my things were already packed.”

Her mouth tightened.

“That was for your own good.”

“My own good?”

Richard interrupted calmly.

“Mr. Brooks, I suggest you speak with your attorney before taking another step.”

My father turned toward him.

“You think a piece of paper makes this kid untouchable?”

“No,” Richard said. “The estate does.”

Silence.

Cole glanced at Dad.

“What estate?”

My father didn't answer.

That was when I understood.

He had known.

Maybe not everything.

But enough.

Richard gestured toward his car.

“We're leaving.”

I grabbed my backpack.

My entire life fit inside it.

As I walked past my father, he caught my wrist.

“You have no idea what that man's family did.”

I pulled free.

“My grandfather?”

“James wasn't the man you think he was.”

I stared at him.

“You told me he died before I was born.”

“He might as well have.”

Richard opened the passenger door.

I got in.

We drove through the rain.

For the first twenty minutes, neither of us spoke.

Then I asked, “Did my father know you were looking for me?”

“Yes.”

“Then why didn't he tell me?”

“Because he had no legal duty to.”

“That isn't an answer.”

Richard looked out the windshield.

“No. It isn't.”

We drove another hour.

Then the trees began.

Tall black pines lined the road.

At the end of a winding driveway stood a house so enormous I thought the GPS had taken us to a hotel.

Blackwood House rose from the fog like it had been waiting for me.

Stone walls.

Tall windows.

A three-story entrance tower.

And dozens of lights glowing behind the glass.

I stepped out of the car.

A woman in her sixties approached.

She wore a simple dark dress and carried herself with the quiet confidence of someone who had spent decades running the place.

She stopped three feet from me.

Her eyes filled with tears.

Then she whispered,

“You have your mother's eyes.”

I froze.

“Who are you?”

“Margaret.”

She touched her chest.

“I served your grandfather for thirty-one years.”

She stepped closer.

“And I have been waiting for you since the day you were born.”

My throat tightened.

“I don't remember you.”

“You weren't supposed to.”

Richard exchanged a look with her.

That bothered me.

“What does that mean?”

Margaret glanced toward the house.

“Your grandfather believed everyone who knew the truth would eventually become a target.”

I stepped inside.

The foyer was enormous.

Marble floor.

Dark wood.

A chandelier hanging above us.

And directly ahead, a giant portrait.

A stern older man stared down from the canvas.

James Brooks.

My grandfather.

I had never met him.

But the moment I saw his face, something inside me shifted.

There was something familiar about his eyes.

Something unsettling.

Richard led me toward a study.

“Your grandfather arranged a private briefing for you.”

“In a room he's not alive to attend?”

Richard stopped at the door.

“He arranged it years ago.”

He opened the door.

Inside was a desk.

A fireplace.

Bookshelves.

And one locked metal safe built into the wall.

On the desk sat a small wooden box.

My name was carved into the lid.

I opened it.

Inside was an old key.

And beneath the key was another note.

Start with the man who taught you not to ask questions.

I stared at the sentence.

Then I heard footsteps in the hallway.

Richard turned.

Margaret's face went pale.

“Who's here?”

No one answered.

The footsteps stopped directly outside the study.

May you like

My Family Inherited Millions and Left Me a Ruined House. Four Months Lat...

The lawyer’s office fell silent as my grandmother’s will was read, and I watched my family inherit millions while I received nothi...

A Desperate Mother Begged a Billionaire for a Job to Feed Her Two Childr...

I was stranded on a lonely Arizona highway with two starving children, a pair of ruined suitcases, and no way to reach our destina...

I Saved the Mafia Boss’s Baby from a Dumpster, but He Threw Me in Jail f...

The first thing I noticed when I opened the dumpster behind the Valente mansion was a tiny blue hand sticking out from beneath a f...

The door handle slowly turned.

And my father walked in.