Chapter 2
I fought back tears as I called Joseph, my voice breaking into desperate pleading. “I’m begging you-if you send someone to save our daughter, I’ll give you what you want! I don’t need the money or the property, I just want Joyce to live!”
He paused for a moment, and for once, there was an edge of urgency in his voice. “What nonsense are you talking about? Everything in the garage is just for show-”
I didn’t wait to hear the rest. Staring at Joyce’s bloodless face, I was about to push him when another voice broke in, sugary and mocking. “Joe, maybe you should head back. I can’t believe she’s using her own daughter’s life to trick you,” Katherine Fletcher cooed.
“I’m not-”
“Enough!” Joseph cut off my explanation with an icy snarl, his voice colder than frost. “Samantha, you’ve really grown bold! How dare you curse your daughter just to get me to come back? What’s next —are you going to tell me there’s an urn and a funeral waiting? Not only have you gotten old, but your brain’s gone soft, too!”
With a click, the line went dead, severing the last shred of hope I had.
I held Joyce’s stiffening hand, forcing myself not to fall apart. I didn’t have time for grief.
I quickly called the property office. When I bought this garage, they had kept a spare key.
“Hello,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m the owner of the garage at Building 808. I locked myself inside. Please come open the door.”
There was some muffled discussion on the other end before someone replied, “Mrs. Barnes, that proper- ty is no longer under your name. Without authorization from the current owner, we can’t open the door.”
My body swayed. “What do you mean?”
“The property, including the garage, was transferred to Ms. Fletcher last month by Mr. Barnes…”
I didn’t hear the rest.
A crushing wave of helplessness swallowed me whole. My phone slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor as my legs gave out.
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vack. The soos ripped through me.
Through blurred vision, I saw her pale face, eyes half-open-still unwilling to close.
I crawled over and gently shut her eyelids with shaking hands. Tears streamed down my face as I wept over her lifeless body.
Just then, my phone rang sharply. Thinking it was the ambulance, I hurried to answer.
“Samantha, can’t you talk to Joseph about lending our family three million? We’re in a tight spot.”
For the first time, I cut my mother off mid-sentence. My voice was barely a whisper. “Joyce’s gone…”
“What?”
I raised my voice, forcing the words past my grief. “I said Joyce is dead!”
There was a pause, then she continued as if I had said nothing. “If she’s gone, you can have another. This is your fault. If you had given Joseph a son, would he treat you like this? So what if he has mis- tresses-just let him be! What’s the point of making a fuss—”
I hung up and closed my eyes.
That was my mother-the woman who raised me. Upon hearing that her granddaughter had died, all she could do was tell me to have another.
And the man I had loved for over a decade, the man Joyce had called “Dad” all her life, had her tortured to death because of a slap to his secretary.
A laugh burst from my throat-wild, broken, bordering on madness.
Then, from outside the door, came a shout. “Ms. Wallace, are you still in there?”
My eyes went wide. I rushed to the door, pounding on the metal. “Help! Please!”
They broke the lock with heavy tools, forcing the door open.
The moment they saw Joyce’s body, their expressions shifted from urgency to horror.
It took a long moment before their leader found his voice. “Take her and the wooden board back.”
They surged forward, carefully lifting Joyce into the waiting vehicle.
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Chapter S
