she whispered, tasting the name. It felt foreign, but it also felt like home.
Arthur gave her no more time for sentiment. He turned to the door, where his head of security was waiting.
“Have the car ready for first thing in the morning. And get me private investigator Cole on the line. I want him here for breakfast.”
“An investigator?” Anna asked, looking up from the photo.
“The best in the country,” Arthur replied with a cold smile. “We’re going to reopen the investigation into the accident. We’re going to dig up every lie that was told twenty-three years ago.”
The next morning, the penthouse dining room was a hub of activity. Detective Cole, a bald man with a scar on his cheek and the look of someone who hadn’t slept in a week, listened intently while sipping black coffee.
“It’s one hell of a story, Mr. Blackwood,” Cole said, looking at the DNA test results on the table. “If the girl… that is, if Miss Grace was in that car, then the coroner’s report is complete garbage.”
“I want to know who was at the scene,” Arthur ordered. “I want the names of every cop, firefighter, and paramedic who showed up that night. And I want to find the man in the leather jacket.”
“The ghost,” Anna murmured from the other side of the table, feeling self-conscious in the designer clothes Arthur had sent for. “The nun said he had a limp.”
Cole jotted the detail in a notepad.
“A limping drifter in a leather jacket in the middle of a storm on a mountain road,” the detective repeated. “It’s not much, but it’s a start.”
Suddenly, Anna’s phone, which Arthur had returned to her, buzzed on the table. It was a text from an unknown number. Anna read it and her face went pale.
“Dad,” she said, the word coming out instinctively with fear.
Arthur was immediately at her side.
“What is it?”
Anna showed him the screen. The message was short and brutal: “Enjoy your new life while it lasts. Some secrets are better left buried.”
Arthur read the message, and his face hardened into a mask of murderous rage. He snatched the phone from Anna’s hand and gave it to the detective.
“Trace this number,” Blackwood snarled. “Now.”
Cole looked at the screen and shot to his feet, pulling out his own equipment.
“This confirms our suspicions, Mr. Blackwood,” the detective said in a grave voice. “Someone is watching, and they’re not happy your daughter has reappeared.”
Anna looked at her father, feeling the weight of the golden cage closing in around her. This wasn’t just about her identity anymore. This was a hunt.
Detective Cole snapped his laptop shut with a sharp click that made Anna jump.
“The signal from the message is encrypted,” Cole said, rubbing the scar on his cheek. “Whoever sent this threat knows what they’re doing. This isn’t some random thug, Mr. Blackwood. This is a professional.”
Arthur slammed his fist on the table, rattling the china.
“I don’t care if he’s a ghost,” he growled. “I want to know who was on that road 23 years ago. Let’s go.”
“Go where?” Anna asked, standing up.
“To where it all began,” Arthur replied, grabbing his coat on his way out. “To the Appalachian pass.”
The journey in the armored SUV was fast and silent. Arthur’s security convoy navigated the treacherous turns of the mountain road like a black, metallic snake. Anna stared out the window, a knot of nausea tightening in her stomach as they climbed higher. The pine trees blurred past, tall and dark.
The car stopped at a deserted scenic overlook, protected only by a rusted guardrail. The wind howled, whipping at the coats of the guards who fanned out to secure the perimeter. Arthur got out and helped Anna down. His hand was cold, but his grip was firm. They walked to the edge of the cliff. Hundreds of feet below, the skeleton of a burned-out forest was visible, a scar on the landscape that had never fully healed.
“It was here,” Arthur said, his voice nearly lost in the wind. “It was eleven at night. Raining cats and dogs. A truck swerved into our lane. I lost control.”
Anna looked down into the ravine, imagining the fall, the fire, the terror.
“How could I have survived that?” she asked in a whisper.
“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Detective Cole said, walking up with a thick file under his arm. “Mr. Blackwood, I was reviewing the original autopsy report on the way up. Something doesn’t add up.”
“What do you mean?”
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