Chapter 3 : The Poisoned Apple
Grace Fulton arrived at the cabin the next afternoon. She wore a sharp maroon trench coat and carried a briefcase that always seemed to hold the exact weapon we needed.
But as she sat at my dining table, reviewing the files she had pulled on Arthur Reed overnight, her expression was grim.
"Arthur Reed," Grace began, sliding a mugshot across the table.
I looked at the photo. The man staring back had cold, flat eyes and a smile that seemed to mock the camera. He looked remarkably like Melissa, but where her features were sharp and elegant, his were blunt and brutal.
"He has a rap sheet a mile long," Grace continued. "Extortion, aggravated assault, wire fraud. He spent ten years in federal prison and got out two years ago. He operates in the gray areas—blackmail, intimidation."
"He has no legal claim to me," Daniel said, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "I was legally adopted by Eleanor and my father. The records are sealed."
"Legally, he has nothing," Grace agreed. "But Arthur doesn't operate in courtrooms, Daniel. He operates in the shadows. He knows your tech company is on the verge of a massive public offering. He knows a scandal—a messy, sordid family history splashed across the internet—could tank your stock and ruin your board's confidence."
"So he wants money," I said.
"He wants a payoff," Grace corrected. "A very large one. To go away and stay quiet."
"I won't pay him," Daniel said fiercely. "I won't let him extort us. We'll go to the police."
"And say what?" Grace asked gently. "That a man parked near your house? Until he makes a direct threat, the police can't do much. And the moment you involve the authorities, the press gets wind of it. Arthur knows that. He’s banking on it."
As if summoned by her words, my security doorbell chimed.
We all turned toward the monitor mounted on the wall.
Standing at the front gate, smiling directly into the camera, was Arthur Reed. He wasn't in a black sedan today. He was standing on the gravel, hands casually in the pockets of an expensive leather jacket.
"Let him in," Daniel said, his voice dropping an octave.
"Daniel, no," I said. "He's dangerous."
"This is my home," Daniel replied, walking to the console and buzzing the gate open. "And he is standing on my mother's property. I want to look him in the eye."
Grace stood up, smoothing her suit. "I will do the talking."
Three minutes later, a heavy knock echoed through the cabin.
Daniel opened the door.
Arthur Reed stood on the porch. He was taller than I expected, with graying hair slicked back and a casual confidence that made my stomach turn. He looked at Daniel, and a slow, grotesque smile spread across his face.
"Look at you," Arthur purred. "You’ve got your mother's eyes. Rebecca's eyes."
"Don't say her name," Daniel said, his voice shaking with a rage I had never heard before.
Arthur chuckled, stepping forward. Daniel didn't budge, blocking the doorway.
"I just want to talk to my boy," Arthur said.
"You don't have a boy," Grace stepped up right behind Daniel. "Mr. Reed, I am Grace Fulton, legal counsel for the Harland family. You are currently trespassing on private property. You have exactly thirty seconds to state your business before we have you arrested."
Arthur’s eyes flicked to Grace, unimpressed. "Lawyers. Always so dramatic. I'm not here to cause trouble. I'm here for a family reunion. And maybe... a little compensation for my pain and suffering."
"What pain?" I snapped, stepping into view. "The pain you caused Rebecca?"
Arthur looked at me. His eyes were like dead stones. "You must be Eleanor. The woman who bought my son."
"She didn't buy me," Daniel growled. "She saved me. From you."
"Did she?" Arthur sighed, pulling a thick, folded envelope from his jacket. "Here’s the thing, Daniel. I have journals. Letters Rebecca wrote to me before she ran away. They detail some very... interesting things about the Harlands. Things your adoptive father did to ensure the adoption went smoothly. Bribes. Falsified medical records."
My heart stopped. My late husband, Thomas, had been a good man, but he had been desperate to keep Daniel safe. Had he crossed a line?
"You're lying," I said.
"Am I?" Arthur smiled. "I wonder how Daniel's shareholders will feel about their CEO being the product of a black-market adoption ring? How the SEC will feel about the integrity of a man whose entire identity is built on a crime?"
He tossed the envelope onto the porch.
"Two million dollars," Arthur said softly. "Wired to an offshore account I will provide. You have forty-eight hours. Or the journals go to the New York Times."
Arthur turned, crunching down the gravel steps.
Daniel picked up the envelope. He opened it. Inside were photocopies of faded, handwritten pages. I recognized Thomas’s handwriting on one of the margins.
May you like
Daniel looked up at me, devastated.
The poison had found a new way into our home.
