Chapter 1 - THE PROMISE IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
“Why not?”
Clara looked at the faded Polaroid in Leo’s hands.
“Because you wouldn’t sleep unless somebody held you.”
Leo blinked.
“My father held me for forty hours?”
“Almost.”
Clara smiled faintly.
“Every time a nurse tried taking you back to the nursery, you started crying.”
“Dad wouldn’t let them?”
“He told them you had already spent nine months waiting to meet him and he wasn’t giving you back after five minutes.”
Leo looked down at the photograph.
Arthur Sterling was twenty-nine in the picture.
His hair was messy.
His shirt was wrinkled.
His eyes were closed from exhaustion.
But both arms were wrapped protectively around newborn Leo.
For years, Leo had been told Arthur was ambitious, impatient, reckless, and too busy building the Sterling empire to become much of a father.
The photograph told a different story.
“Why has nobody ever shown me this?”
Clara hesitated.
“Your father gave it to me.”
Leo looked up.
“Why you?”
“He said you might need it one day.”
A shadow crossed Leo’s face.
“He knew he was going to die?”
“No.”
Clara answered too quickly.
Leo noticed.
“You’re lying.”
Clara sat beside him.
“I’m leaving something out.”
“What?”
She turned the photograph over.
There were only four handwritten words on the back.
FOR WHEN THEY FORGET.
Leo stared at them.
“Forget what?”
Clara had wondered the same thing for six years.
Arthur had handed her the picture three weeks before his helicopter crashed.
At the time, she believed he meant that wealthy families became busy.
Distracted.
Emotionally careless.
She had never imagined he meant something darker.
Before Clara could answer, footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Eleanor Sterling appeared at Leo’s doorway.
She wore a cream evening gown, diamond earrings, and the expression she always wore whenever she found Clara spending too much time with her nephew.
“There you are.”
Her gaze moved toward the photograph.
“What is that?”
Leo immediately turned it facedown.
“Nothing.”
Eleanor’s eyes sharpened.
“Clara, the foundation dinner begins in forty minutes.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you sitting here?”
Leo answered before Clara could.
“Because I asked her to.”
Eleanor smiled without warmth.
“The staff are not here to entertain you.”
Clara stood.
“I’ll be downstairs in five minutes.”
Eleanor lingered.
Then her eyes settled on Leo’s mobility chair.
“Your evening aide will bring your dinner.”
Leo’s expression fell.
“I thought I could come downstairs tonight.”
“There will be nearly two hundred guests.”
“So?”
“So the ballroom will be crowded.”
“I can handle crowds.”
Eleanor’s smile disappeared.
“We have discussed this.”
“No.”
Leo looked directly at her.
“You discussed it.”
Eleanor stepped closer.
“Do not make tonight difficult.”
Clara felt something twist inside her.
Arthur’s tragic burden.
That was how Eleanor had described the child standing in front of her.
Not her nephew.
Not Arthur’s son.
A burden.
Clara gathered Leo’s empty water glass.
“I’ll check on you later.”
As she reached the door, Leo called her name.
“Clara?”
She turned.
He held up the photograph.
“What if they already forgot?”
Clara looked at Eleanor.
Then back at him.
“I haven’t.”
Three hours later, Sterling Manor was burning.
May you like
And Clara would realize Arthur’s message had never been sentimental.
It had been a warning.
