Chapter 2: The Man Who Never Needed to Raise His Voice
Nathan stared at his phone like it had burned him.
The first call was from his bank.
The second was from his business partner, Gerald Howe.
The third was from his lawyer.
He answered Gerald first, and I watched the color drain from his face in real time.
"What do you mean the accounts are frozen?
All of them?"
Madison stopped smiling.
Nathan turned to me slowly, still on the phone, and for the first time in three years I saw something in his eyes I had never seen before.
Fear.
"Who is your father?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
I didn't answer.
I didn't need to.
Because at that exact moment, the front doors of our Beverly Hills mansion opened without a knock.
Three men in dark suits walked in.
Behind them came a fourth man — older, silver-haired, with the kind of stillness that only comes from never having needed to raise his voice in his entire life.
My father.
He looked at my back.
He looked at the crop still in Nathan's hand.
He looked at the bl00d on the marble floor I had chosen myself.
He didn't say a word for a long moment.
Then he looked at Nathan and said, very quietly:
"I gave you three years with my daughter.
I want to know exactly what you did with them."
Nathan's phone rang again.
He didn't answer it.
Madison took one step toward the door.
"Don't," my father said, without even turning to look at her.
She stopped.
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What Sophia's father did next left Nathan with nothing — and exposed a secret about Madison that nobody in that room saw coming.
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