Chapter 1 - The Night My Mother Needed Me

“You are not going anywhere tonight. That is the end of the discussion.”

Grant Ellison stood between me and the front door, holding my car keys tightly in his hand.

It was shortly after two in the morning in our townhouse outside Columbus, Ohio.

Ten minutes earlier, my younger brother, Owen, had called from a hospital in Dayton.

Our mother, Elaine Talbot, had suffered a sudden heart emergency.

The medical team had done everything they could, but she was gone.

Owen’s voice had broken as he told me the news.

He said he had tried calling several times while the doctors were still working, but my phone had been left downstairs beside Grant.

All I wanted was to reach the hospital, hold my mother’s hand one final time, and stand beside my brother.

“Please drive me,” I said. “I don’t think I can safely drive by myself. I just need to get there.”

Grant glanced at the clock as though my grief were an inconvenience on his schedule.

“We have investors coming tomorrow morning,” he replied. “My mother arranged breakfast, and the real-estate consultant will be here at nine. I’m not allowing you to walk around crying and filling the house with sadness.”

I stared at him, unable to understand how anyone could speak that way.

“My mother just passed away.”

“And nothing you do tonight will change that.”

I moved toward the door, but Grant blocked me.

When I tried to reach for the keys, the argument became physical.

He pushed me away from the entrance, and I struck the side table before losing my balance.

That was when his mother appeared at the top of the stairs.

Marjorie Ellison wore an expensive silk robe, her silver-blond hair perfectly arranged even in the middle of the night.

For one hopeful second, I thought she might tell her son to stop.

Instead, she looked at me with irritation.

“Put her somewhere quiet until she calms down,” Marjorie said. “Tomorrow’s meeting is too important to be ruined by one of her emotional scenes.”

Grant took hold of my arm and led me toward the storage room beneath the stairs.

“Grant, don’t do this,” I pleaded. “Owen is alone. My mother is lying in a hospital, and I should be with her.”

He opened the door.

The narrow room smelled of cardboard, dust, and old paint.

“Stay here until you can behave rationally.”

He pushed me inside.

Then the lock turned.

For several seconds, I stood in complete darkness.

I could hear Grant and Marjorie speaking outside.

Not about my mother.

Not about the hospital.

About documents.

“Her mother kept the original deed somewhere,” Marjorie whispered.

“She always carried copies in that blue folder,” Grant replied.

“You need Vanessa to sign before the death is recorded.”

My grief sharpened into confusion.

Vanessa.

Who was Vanessa?

Then Marjorie said something that made every part of me go still.

“If Lydia finds out the lake property was never transferred, she can stop the entire deal.”

Lydia was me.

My name is Lydia Talbot Ellison.

And until that moment, I had believed the breakfast meeting involved investors in Grant’s struggling construction business.

I had never known it involved my mother’s property.

I searched the darkness with my hands.

The storage room contained winter coats, cleaning supplies, and several boxes of old tax records.

My phone was gone.

My keys were gone.

The small window near the ceiling had been painted shut.

Then I felt something behind a stack of folded blankets.

A metal toolbox.

Inside was a hammer.

I did not break the door.

Not yet.

Instead, I pressed my ear against it.

Grant and Marjorie were walking toward the upstairs office.

I heard drawers opening.

Papers moving.

They were searching our house while I was locked beneath the stairs.

That was when I understood something terrible.

Grant had not prevented me from reaching the hospital because of investors.

He needed me trapped while my mother’s death created a narrow window to take something she had protected.

I gripped the hammer.

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