Chapter 38
Elise's POV:
The police's final conclusion was: home invasion robbery, perpetrator at large.
But I never believed that conclusion.
Not because of intuition.
Because of evidence—or rather, the absence of it.
Dad's name was Richard Sterling.
No, wait, his real name was Richard Vance.
Star partner at Carter & Associates. From the age of thirty, he had been the exclusive legal counsel for the Sterling family, handling all their core business: cross-border mergers and acquisitions, offshore trusts, tax structures, and those private agreements that would never appear in any public documents.
Mom was Audrey Vance, a senior attorney at the same firm, specializing in intellectual property and commercial litigation. She kept a much lower profile than Dad, but was equally respected in the industry.
Their combined annual salaries were enough to provide our family of three with a very comfortable life. And the assets they actually owned—investments, real estate, insurance, trusts—far exceeded ordinary people's imagination.
Then they were shot and killed at home one Friday night.
No valuables were stolen. The safe wasn't forcibly opened. The Cartier watch on Mom's wrist was still there—until the police removed it as evidence.
This wasn't a robbery.
This was a silencing.
I had always known this. From the moment I stood in the living room at thirteen, watching as white sheets were pulled over my parents' bodies, I knew.
But knowing was one thing. Proving was another.
I had no evidence. No witnesses. No suspects. After the police filed the case away, they never reopened it. Every year when I called to inquire about progress, the answer was always the same: "The case is still under investigation. We'll notify you immediately if there's any news."
Five years. No news.
So I accepted Liam Sterling's "sponsorship agreement." Moved into the apartment he arranged. Played the role of a docile, graceful, not-too-bright girlfriend.
Everyone—including Liam himself—thought I was an orphan struck down by fate who had met a kindhearted rich young man and lived a life of comfort ever after.
No one knew the truth.
I wasn't here for love. Not for money. Not even for that sense of security that comes from being taken care of.
I was here because Liam's last name was Sterling.
He was the direct heir of the Sterling family. His social circle, his family gatherings, the people and events he mentioned casually—each one was an opportunity for me to get closer to the truth.
Over five years, I had been collecting fragments in an extremely slow, extremely careful manner. A name overheard at a family dinner. A photograph glimpsed by accident. Information revealed in a drunken slip of the tongue. I recorded all the fragments in an encrypted notebook, hidden at the very bottom of my case files.
The fragments were still too few. They couldn't form a complete picture.
But at least I had confirmed one thing—the person who killed my parents had a direct connection to the Sterling family.
And now Victor had given me seven days to leave Liam.
After seven days, I would lose my only source of information from inside the Sterling family. Lose my reason to attend family dinners. Lose the opportunity to overhear their conversations. Lose all the fragile bridges I had spent five years carefully constructing.
That was the real problem.
If the leads went cold, I might never know who ordered my parents killed.
---
I closed the file, put it back in the document bag, and returned it to the hidden compartment.
Then I picked up my phone and scrolled to a number I had saved for a long time but never dialed.
Julian Vance.
One of Dad's former colleagues at the firm, and one of the people he trusted most in this world. After my parents died, he was the one who helped me handle all the legal procedures—estate trusteeship, guardian designation, identity change.
He was also the one who kept the inheritance my parents left me in the form of a trust. He said I could claim it when I came of age.
I was nineteen now. Long past the legal age of majority.
But I had never gone to claim it.
Because Uncle Benjamin and Aunt Margaret kept telling me: "You're still too young. Handling that much money isn't safe. Let Uncle manage it for you, wait until you're a bit older."
I was only fourteen then. Didn't understand anything. Believed everything.
Now I didn't believe them anymore.
I dialed the number.
It rang four times before someone picked up.
"Elise?" Julian's voice came through from the other end, carrying surprise and obvious aging—the last time I saw him was two years ago, his voice hadn't been this hoarse. "Is that you?"
"It's me, Uncle Julian," I said. "I'd like to meet with you. Is today possible?"
Silence on the other end for two seconds.
"Of course," he said, his tone as gentle as ever. "Where are you? I'll come pick you up—"
"No need, I'll come directly to your office."