Part 2: The Stolen Decade
My father took a sharp step forward, his mouth opening to deliver an authoritative speech, but the words died in his throat the moment he stepped across the threshold into the grand foyer of my home.
His eyes swept across the soaring double-height ceilings, the polished marble floors, and the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the city skyline. Beside him, my mother gasped softly, her eyes wide with total disbelief. They had spent fifteen years assuming I was living in poverty, broken by the shame my father had cast upon me.
“Esther…” my mother stammered, taking a hesitant step forward, her hands reaching out toward me. “Is this… is this your house?”
“It is,” I replied cleanly, my voice completely devoid of warmth or anger. “And you have ten seconds to tell me why you are standing on my porch at midnight.”
Rachel stepped past my parents, falling onto her knees on the marble floor, sobbing so hard her shoulders shook. “Esther, please! Marcus found out I downloaded his private ledgers… he knows I have the evidence that can put him away! Dad brought me here because… because we had nowhere else to hide!”
My father adjusted his jacket, trying to reclaim his old posture of authority. “Esther, your sister is in danger! You need to hide us! You owe your family—”
“I owe you nothing, Richard,” I cut him off, stepping in front of my son, Leo.
My father’s eyes locked onto Leo for the first time. He stared at the boy’s sharp jawline, his blue eyes, and his calm, intelligent demeanor—a mirror image of the noble family legacy my father had always bragged about.
To discover the truth about Leo’s father, continue reading below for Part 3.
