Chapter 103 The notebook

Chapter 103 The notebook
"The notebook sat heavy."

The notebook sat heavy in my lap, its worn leather cover warm against my skin. I traced the faded gold lettering on the spine with my fingertip, afraid to open it. Beck stood behind me, his hands resting on my shoulders, his breath warm against my hair.

"Open it," he said quietly.

"I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"Of what I'll find."

He knelt beside me, his eyes meeting mine. "Whatever it is, we'll face it together."

I took a breath and opened the notebook.

The first page was dated fifteen years ago. The handwriting was elegant, precise, nothing like the sharp script on the letter. It was Margaret's handwriting.

"I made a choice today. A choice I'll have to live with for the rest of my life. I chose my empire over my daughter. I chose power over love."

I flipped through the pages. Entries spanning decades. Entries about my mother's rise, her fall, the network Margaret had built. And at the very end, a single line:

"Ivy, if you're reading this, I'm already gone. The truth is in these pages. Use it wisely."

I looked up at Beck. "She knew."

"Knew what?"

"She knew I'd find this. She wanted me to."

Elena arrived an hour later, her face tight. "I ran the handwriting. It's Margaret's. But the letter at the beginning—the one signed 'V'—that's not hers."

"Then who?"

"I don't know yet. But whoever it is, they want you to keep digging."

We spent the next few days going through the notebook. Page by page, entry by entry. The names, the dates, the places. The money. The lies.

My mother's name appeared often. The entries painted a portrait of a woman who was both victim and perpetrator. A woman who'd tried to escape her mother's shadow and ended up becoming the very thing she feared.

"I need to see her," I said.

Beck looked up from the notebook. "Who?"

"My mother."

"She's in custody."

"I know. But I need to ask her about this."

He was silent for a long moment. "Then we go together."

The prison visiting room was cold, gray, familiar. My mother sat behind the glass, thinner than before, her hair streaked with gray. She looked old. Tired. Broken.

"Mom."

"Ivy." Her voice cracked. "You came."

"I found Margaret's notebook."

Her face went pale. "What notebook?"

"The one she kept for years. The one with everything in it. The names, the dates, the money."

She stared at me. "She kept a record?"

"All of it." I leaned forward. "She wrote about you. About what she made you do. About how she controlled you."

Her eyes filled with tears. "She controlled everyone."

"Then why didn't you fight back?"

"Because I was afraid. Afraid of her, afraid of losing everything, afraid of becoming nothing." She looked down at her hands. "I was a coward."

"Maybe. But you're still standing."

"I'm still in prison."

"That doesn't mean you're not fighting."

She looked up. Her eyes were wet. "Ivy, I'm sorry. For everything."

I didn't say it back. I just held her gaze. "I know."

That night, I lay in Beck's arms, staring at the ceiling. The notebook was on the nightstand, its secrets waiting.

"Ivy."

"Yeah."

"What are you going to do?"

"Finish what Margaret started. Use the notebook. Bring down the network."

"Even if it means hurting your mother?"

"Especially if it means that."

He kissed my forehead. "Then I'm with you."

I looked at the notebook. At all the secrets it held. At all the truths I was about to uncover.

The notebook sat heavy.

But so did the truth.

And I was ready to carry it.

The next morning, I called my publisher. "I need to postpone the book tour."

"Why?"

"Family stuff."

"How long?"

"I don't know."

She was quiet for a moment. "Ivy, if you're not careful, you'll lose your momentum."

"I'll risk it."

I hung up. Beck came up behind me, his hands on my shoulders.

"Are you sure about this?"

"No. But I'm doing it anyway."

I spent the next week reading through the notebook. Every entry, every name, every date. I made lists, cross-referenced names, and built a timeline. Elena helped when she could, but she was busy with the case. Beck was at training camp, calling every night.

I felt like I was drowning.

But I kept reading.

One night, Beck came home early. He found me in the studio, surrounded by papers, my eyes red.

"Ivy."

"I need a break."

"No, you need sleep." He pulled me to my feet. "You've been at this for days."

"I can't stop. I'm close."

"Close to what?"

"To the truth. The real truth."

He held my face in his hands. "And what will you do when you find it?"

"I don't know."

"Then stop looking."

"I can't."

He kissed me, slow and deep. "Then let me help."

The next evening, we went through the notebook together. Beck read aloud while I took notes. We found patterns, connections, names that kept appearing. One name in particular stood out: Diana.

"Who's Diana?" Beck asked.

"I don't know. But she's everywhere."

"Maybe she's the one who sent the letter."

I looked at the name again. "Diana."

"I'll ask Elena to run it."

The next morning, Elena called. "Diana is Margaret's former assistant. She disappeared a few months ago."

"Where is she now?"

"We don't know. But she's been in contact with someone close to you."

"Who?"

Elena was quiet for a moment. "Your father."

I hung up and stared at the wall. My father. The man who'd lied to me, betrayed me, and then disappeared.

"I need to talk to him."

Beck grabbed his keys. "Then let's go."

We drove to my father's house. He was sitting on the porch, staring at nothing. He looked older than I remembered.

"Ivy."

"You've been talking to Diana."

His face went pale. "How do you know that?"

"Because I found Margaret's notebook."

"I was trying to protect you."

"You've been trying to protect yourself."

He stood up. "Diana has information about Victoria. About the network. She's been feeding it to me for months."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't want you to get hurt."

"You're always trying to protect me. You never let me fight my own battles."

He looked at me, his eyes wet. "I know."

He walked inside. I stood on the porch, staring at the closed door.

That night, a text appeared on my phone.

"Your father isn't the only one talking to Diana. So am I. Meet me tomorrow. The old rink. Midnight. Come alone, or the truth dies with me."

I read it three times. My hands were shaking.

Beck was asleep beside me, his breathing steady. I didn't wake him.

I stared at the text.

Another secret. Another meeting. Another lie waiting to be uncovered.

I turned off the phone and stared at the ceiling.

Tomorrow, I'd find out the truth.

One way or another.