Chapter 41: The False Olive Branch

The black SUV didn't ram us. It just boxed us in, its grille filling the rearview mirror like a predator sniffing prey. The headlights were blinding, turning the night into a washed-out nightmare.

"Don't get out," Ben said, his voice tight. "Lock the doors."

"They're going to break the windows," I said, watching as two men got out of the SUV. They were wearing dark suits, efficient and terrifying. They weren't police. They were cleaners.

"We have to move," I said. "We can't stay here."

"The truck is dead, Sarah. We're sitting ducks."

I looked at Leo. He was huddled in the passenger seat, clutching the IV stand like a lifeline. He looked so small, so fragile.

"Take him," I said to Ben. "Run into the woods. I'll distract them."

"Sarah, no—"

"Go!" I shoved the black metal box into his hands. "Take the evidence. Save the boy."

Ben looked at me, torn. Then he nodded. He grabbed Leo's arm.

"Come on, kid. We're going for a walk."

They slipped out the passenger door and scrambled down the embankment into the trees. I waited until they were gone, then I opened my door and stepped out onto the asphalt.

The men stopped. They looked at me, then at the empty truck.

"Where is the boy?" the taller one asked.

"Safe," I said. "Where Edith can't touch him."

"Mrs. Sterling wants her grandson," the man said. "And she wants the box."

"She can't have either," I said.

The man sighed. He pulled a gun from his jacket.

"We're not here to negotiate, Ms. Sterling. We're here to retrieve property."

He raised the gun.

"Wait!" a voice called out.

It wasn't Ben. It wasn't Mark.

It was Edith.

She was standing by the SUV, illuminated by the headlights. She looked impeccable, even in the chaos. Her trench coat was belted tight, her hair smooth.

"Don't shoot her," she said, walking toward me. "She's family."

"I'm not your family," I spat. "I'm your purchase."

Edith stopped a few feet away. She looked at me with a mixture of pity and contempt.

"You were a good investment, Sarah. Until you started asking questions."

"Why?" I asked. "Why steal us? Why kill Alice? Why ruin everything?"

"Because the Sterling name means something," she said. "It means stability. It means power. Archibald was going to let it die. He was going to let the line end with Clara, a woman who couldn't even tie her own shoes."

"Clara isn't crazy," I said. "You made her that way. You drugged her. You gaslit her."

"I protected her," Edith said. "I protected the legacy. And I built it into something greater than Archibald ever dreamed."

She took a step closer.

"Give me the box, Sarah. And I'll let you go. You can take the boy. You can disappear. I'll even give you money."

"I don't want your money," I said. "I want my life back. I want the truth."

"The truth is whatever I say it is," Edith said. "History is written by the survivors."

"Not this time," I said.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the locket Mrs. Gables had given me. The picture of Maria Elena.

"I found this," I said. "In Thorne's trash. It's my mother."

Edith looked at the locket. Her expression didn't change.

"Maria was a sweet girl," she said. "But she was weak. She couldn't have raised you. I gave you a life of privilege."

"You gave me a life of lies!" I screamed. "You stole my brother. You stole my son. You stole me."

"I made you," Edith said cold. "And I can unmake you."

She signaled to the men.

"Grab her."

The men lunged. I tried to run, but they were too fast. One grabbed my arms, pinning them behind my back. The other grabbed my hair, yanking my head back.

Edith walked up to me. She smiled.

"You really should have taken the dinner invitation, Sarah," she said. "We could have had a nice talk."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a syringe.

"What is that?" I gasped, struggling against the men.

"A sedative," she said. "Just like Clara's. It will help you sleep. And when you wake up... you won't remember any of this. You'll be back in the fold. A dutiful niece. A loving mother."

She brought the needle to my neck.

"No!" I screamed.

But then, a sound cut through the night.

A siren.

Not a police siren. A fire alarm.

It was coming from the estate. From the greenhouse.

We all looked.

The column of smoke had turned into a tower of flame. The greenhouse was burning.

And in the light of the fire, I saw a figure standing on the roof of the carriage house.

It was Mark.

He was holding something. A book.

He shouted something, but the wind stole his words.

Edith went pale.

"The ledger," she whispered. "He found the other ledger."

"What other ledger?" I asked.

"The one I didn't burn," Edith said, her voice trembling. "The one that lists the accounts. The offshore accounts."

She turned to the men.

"Forget her," she said. "Get to the house. Save the book."

The men hesitated.

"Go!" she screamed.

They dropped me and ran for the SUV. Edith scrambled in after them. The car peeled out, racing back toward the fire.

I fell to my knees, gasping for air.

Mark had saved me. He had used the only thing Edith cared about—her money—to draw her away.

But he was still in the fire.

I stood up. I had to get to him. I had to get to Ben and Leo.

But as I turned to run into the woods, I saw something on the ground where Edith had been standing.

She had dropped something in her haste.

It wasn't the syringe.

It was a photo album.

The one she had tried to give me at dinner. The "doctored" one.

I picked it up. The cover was leather, embossed with gold. *Sarah - 1988.*

I opened it.

The first page was a photo of a baby. Me.

But there was something wrong.

The baby was wearing a hospital bracelet.

I squinted in the dim light.

The date on the bracelet wasn't June 15, 1988.

It was June 15, *1989*.

I stared at the date.

If I was born in 1989...

Then I wasn't Leo's twin.

I wasn't Clara's daughter.

And I wasn't Thorne's daughter.

I flipped the page. There was another photo. A woman holding the baby.

It wasn't Maria Elena.

It was Edith.

And she looked... pregnant.

Not padded. Real.

Her face was swollen. Her ankles were thick.

I looked at the date on the back of the photo. *May 1989.*

Edith *had* been pregnant.

But the hysterectomy was in 1987.

Unless...

Unless the hysterectomy records were fake.

Unless Edith hadn't stolen me.

Unless I was the one thing she never wanted anyone to know about.

Her biological daughter.

And the reason she hid me... the reason she made up the story about the adoption...

Was because of who my father was.

I looked at the man in the background of the photo. He was standing in the shadows, watching Edith with a proprietary air.

It wasn't Thorne.

It was Archibald Sterling.

My grandfather.

I dropped the album.

I wasn't the heir. I wasn't the spare.

I was the abomination.