CHAPTER 2 — THE YELLOW FOLDER
The rain didn’t stop when I spoke.
It only grew heavier.
Harold’s confidence flickered for the first time—but he masked it quickly, tightening his jaw as if that alone could restore control.
“You’re bluffing,” he said coldly.
Eleanor didn’t speak.
She was staring at the yellow folder in my hand like it was something dangerous.
My children stayed behind me, silent now. Even the baby had stopped moving, pressed tightly against my chest.
I stepped forward onto the wet marble.
One step.
Then another.
“I didn’t want it to be like this,” I said quietly. “Ethan didn’t either.”
At the mention of his name, something shifted in the air.
A memory.
A weight.
Harold scoffed, but it didn’t sound as strong as before.
“Ethan is dead,” he snapped. “And dead men don’t control property.”
I opened the folder.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
The sound of paper tearing through the storm felt louder than thunder.
Inside was a single document.
Stamped.
Signed.
Certified.
I didn’t say anything at first.
I just held it up.
And watched his eyes move across the page.
Watched the color drain from his face.
“No…” he whispered.
Eleanor leaned in.
Then she saw it too.
Her hand trembled once.
Then stopped completely.
Because printed at the top of the deed… was a name neither of them expected.
Not Whitmore.
May you like
Not Ethan.
Mine.
