Chapter 3 - Shadow of the Past
Z
The glowing screen of my phone cast an eerie, cold blue light across the dark dashboard of Ethan’s sedan. I stared at the unlisted number, my heart hammering a panicked rhythm against my ribs. Twenty years I had lived under the assumption that I knew the whole story: a young woman, a foolish affair, an unwanted pregnancy, and a quick exit out of Illinois to escape the shame. That was the script Richard had fed me. That was the narrative I had built my entire life around.
"Mom?" Ethan’s voice cut through the heavy silence. He kept his eyes fixed on the rain-slicked pavement of the Eisenhower Expressway, his hands gripping the steering wheel firmly. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Who was that?"
I quickly locked the screen, shoving the phone into the depths of my leather purse. "Just... spam, sweetheart. An automated message."
I hated lying to him. I had spent his whole life trying to be the anchor of truth in a house built on Richard's illusions. But looking at Ethan right now—his face lit by the passing streetlights, exhausted yet triumphant from finally standing up to his abuser—I couldn't pull him into another tailspin. Not tonight. Tonight was supposed to be his victory.
"We need to celebrate properly," I said, forcing a warm, steady tone into my voice. "A real dinner. Just the two of us. Tomorrow."
Ethan offered a faint, tired smile. "Sounds perfect, Mom. But first, we need to figure out where you're staying tonight. You can't go back to the house. Not with Richard in the state he's in."
"I have my key to your grandfather's old brownstone," I replied. "Richard rarely goes there. He hates the neighborhood. It's the one place he can't touch."
What I didn't tell Ethan was that the brownstone was also where I kept my personal records—documents Richard had never seen, including my late father's real estate trusts. If Richard thought he was going to bleed me dry in a divorce, he was in for a brutal awakening.
After Ethan dropped me off at the quiet, tree-lined street in Lincoln Park, I waited on the porch until his taillights vanished around the corner. The night air was freezing, biting through my navy dress. I unlocked the heavy oak door, stepped inside, and flipped the light switch. The entryway smelled faintly of old paper, polished wood, and my father's old pipe tobacco—a comforting ghost.
I locked the deadbolt behind me, walked straight to the kitchen, and pulled my phone back out. My fingers trembled as I reopened the text message.
Who is this? I typed back, my thumb lingering over the send button before I finally tapped it.
The response came almost instantly, three dark dots dancing on the screen before transforming into text.
My name is Victoria. I was Julianna’s sister. Ethan’s aunt. Richard lied to you, Margaret. Julianna didn't abandon Ethan. She didn't leave Illinois willingly.
My knees felt weak. I grabbed the edge of the granite counter to steady myself. Julianna. That was her name. Julianna Vance. I had only seen her name once, printed in cold, black ink on Ethan's birth certificate next to Richard’s signature.
I typed back frantically: What are you talking about? Julianna gave him to Richard because her family disowned her.
That’s the lie Richard told you so you’d take the baby without asking questions, Victoria replied. Julianna wanted her son. Richard took him from the hospital room using a forged custody waiver and a crooked attorney. My sister spent two years looking for him before she disappeared.
"Disappeared?" I whispered out loud, the word hanging in the dark kitchen like a fog.
Before I could type another response, my phone rang. The screen displayed Richard’s name.
I took a deep breath, setting Victoria's text thread aside, and answered the call. I needed to hear his voice, needed to gauge the level of monster I had actually been sleeping next to for two decades.
"Where are you?" Richard barked the moment I put the phone to my ear. He sounded slurred, chaotic, the sound of wind whipping past him in the background. He was driving.
"I'm somewhere safe, Richard," I said, keeping my voice icy and flat. "Where you can't reach me."
"You ruined me tonight, Margaret!" he roared, slamming his hand against his steering wheel. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Paul is calling an emergency board meeting for the firm tomorrow morning! My partners are asking questions! They think I'm a financial fraud because of what that brat said at dinner!"
"Ethan told the truth," I replied calmly. "You are a fraud, Richard. Financially, morally, and emotionally. You built an entire persona on my back, and now that I've stepped away, you're falling."
"Listen to me, you ungrateful bitch," Richard hissed, his voice dropping into a desperate, razor-sharp growl. "You think you can just walk away with your little tear-jerker story? You sign whatever divorce papers my lawyer sends you, or I will destroy Ethan. I will make sure his master's degree is worthless. I will call every firm in Chicago and make sure he never gets hired."
A cold rage, deeper and darker than anything I had ever felt, bloomed in my chest.
"If you touch a single hair on Ethan's head, or interfere with his career," I said, each word measured and lethal, "I will not just sue you for divorce. I will go to the State Attorney. I know about the offshore accounts in the Caymans, Richard. I know about the shell company you created under the name 'Vance Holdings.' Do you really want me to start digging into why you named it after Julianna?"
Silence stretched across the line. Dead, heavy silence.
The sound of his heavy breathing was the only proof he was still there. When he finally spoke, his voice was no longer loud. It was trembling with absolute terror.
"How do you know that name?" he whispered.
"I know a lot of things, Richard," I lied, bluffing to protect the upper hand. "And by tomorrow morning, my lawyer will know them too. Don't ever call me again."
I ended the call and blocked his number.
My hands were shaking violently now. Vance Holdings. I had stumbled across that shell company name three years ago while filing our joint tax returns, but Richard had dismissed it as a subsidiary for his real estate investments. I had never connected the name "Vance" to Ethan's biological mother until this exact moment.
Richard hadn't just cheated on me. He hadn't just stolen money from me to raise his child. He had used a missing woman's name to launder money, and he had stolen her child to hide a crime.
I picked up my phone again and opened the text message from Victoria.
Where are you? I typed. We need to meet. Right now.
May you like
Five seconds later, a location dropped onto my screen: a diner on the outskirts of Cicero.
I grabbed my coat, grabbed my father's old revolver from the safe in the study, slid it into my purse, and walked out into the dark, stormy night. The battle at the restaurant was over, but the war for Ethan's life had just begun.
