Chapter Four

Lucy

I didn't sleep. Not even for a minute. The text message haunted me for the rest of the night.

"Ms. George, your father's situation is far worse than you realize."

I must have read those words at least fifty times before dawn. Every time I looked at them, a fresh wave of anxiety rolled through me. What did that mean?

How could my father's situation possibly be worse? We were already facing foreclosure. His business had collapsed years ago. Creditors called almost daily. What else was there?

The worst part was not knowing. Not knowing left too much room for imagination. And imagination was cruel.

By six in the morning, I gave up trying to sleep and dragged myself out of bed.

The house was quiet. Mom and Dad were still asleep. Sophia's bedroom door remained shut. For once, I welcomed the silence. I needed to think.

I padded into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. The familiar routine helped settle my nerves. A little. While waiting, I pulled out my phone and stared at the message again.

The sender remained unknown. No name and no explanation. Just a threat disguised as information. I considered showing it to Dad. Immediately rejected the idea.

If someone truly knew something, the last thing I wanted was to alarm my parents before I understood what was happening.

The coffee machine beeped. I poured myself a mug and sat at the kitchen table. The foreclosure notice was still attached to the refrigerator. A silent countdown. Twenty-nine days.

My chest tightened. Everything seemed to be falling apart at once. And somehow Albert Craig sat right in the center of it. A man I'd never met. A man whose assistant kept contacting me. A man who apparently knew enough about my family to make me question everything. I hated mysteries. Especially when I was the one trapped inside them.

By eight-thirty, I was at my studio. Technically. Mentally, I was somewhere else entirely. I opened emails, closed emails, started sketches, and abandoned sketches. My concentration was nonexistent.

Around ten, Chloe called. I answered before the first ring finished. "You're going." Not even a greeting. Typical Chloe. "Good morning to you too."

"You're going." I leaned back in my chair. "I haven't decided." "You have." "No."

"Lucy." I groaned. She laughed. "Look, I know you're nervous." "Nervous?" I nearly choked. "Nervous is before a dentist appointment. This is completely different."

"You're being dramatic." "I am not."

"You absolutely are." I rubbed my temples. Maybe I was. A little. But I felt justified. "Tell me honestly," I said.

"If some billionaire you've never met suddenly wants a private meeting, wouldn't you find that suspicious?" "Of course."

"Thank you." "But I'd still go." I closed my eyes. Of course, she would. "Why?" "Because curiosity would kill me."

Unfortunately, she had a point. The text message alone guaranteed I wouldn't be able to let this go. I needed answers, whether I liked it or not.

At exactly eleven o'clock, another email arrived. Craig Holdings again. My pulse immediately spiked. The message was short.

A vehicle will be available at one-thirty should you choose to attend. No obligations and no commitments. The choice remains yours. Attached was a contact number. That was all. No pressure, no explanation, no details, just confidence.

As if they already expected me to say yes. I hated that confidence. Almost as much as I hated the fact that they were probably right.

By noon, I had made my decision. Or perhaps the decision had made itself. The text message wouldn't leave my mind. Neither would the foreclosure notice. Neither would my father's exhausted face.

If Albert Craig truly knew something, I needed answers. Simple as that. I picked up my phone and typed a response. My finger hovered over the screen.

Once I sent it, there was no pretending this wasn't happening. No backing out. At least not completely.

I took a deep breath. Then pressed send. I'll be there. The reply arrived less than thirty seconds later. Excellent.

The vehicle will arrive at one-thirty. That's all. No smiley face, no explanation, nothing. Just another reminder that whoever handled Albert Craig's communications clearly enjoyed being mysterious.

At one twenty-eight, a black luxury SUV pulled up outside my studio. I stared through the window. My stomach flipped. This was really happening. The vehicle looked expensive enough to cost more than my entire business.

A man in a dark suit stepped out and approached the entrance.

Seconds later, there was a knock. Professional, precise, and terrifying. I stood, then immediately sat back down. Then stood again. Pull yourself together, Lucy. It's a meeting. Not an execution. Hopefully.

The knock came again. I forced myself toward the door. When I opened it, the suited man offered a polite smile. "Ms. George?" "Yes."

"My name is Liam Brooks." Recognition hit instantly. The voice, the assistant, and the phone calls. He was younger than I'd imagined. Early thirties perhaps. He was well-dressed, calm, and professional.  The kind of person who looked completely in control at all times.

"I assume you're here for me." A hint of amusement flickered across his expression. "I am." I glanced toward the SUV. Then back at him. 

For a brief moment, common sense screamed at me to run. Instead, I grabbed my purse. "Let's get this over with."

The drive across the city felt surreal. Luxury leather seats, tinted windows, and complete silence.

I kept waiting for Liam to explain something, anything. He didn't.

Finally, I broke. "Do you enjoy being mysterious?" His lips twitched. "I've been accused of that before." "Good." "Why?" "Because now I know it's intentional."

A chuckle escaped him. I wasn't sure whether to be offended or relieved. "Can you at least tell me why Mr. Craig wants to meet me?"

"I'm afraid that's a conversation Mr. Craig wishes to have personally." Of course.

I looked out the window, and the city blurred past. The closer we got to our destination, the more nervous I became.

Questions multiplied inside my head. What if this was about Dad? What if Albert Craig somehow knew something we didn't? What if this entire thing was a mistake?

Twenty minutes later, the SUV slowed. My eyes widened.

The hotel looked even more impressive in person, with glass steel, and luxury. Everything about it screamed money. The kind of money ordinary people couldn't comprehend.

The vehicle stopped. Liam stepped out first. Then he opened my door. I climbed out slowly. Trying and failing to hide my nerves. "We're expected," he said. Expected. The word sent another jolt through me.

Inside, the lobby was breathtaking. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead. Polished marble floors gleamed beneath our feet. Guests moved through the space with effortless confidence. I suddenly felt painfully underdressed. Painfully ordinary.

Liam guided me toward a private elevator. No reception desk. No waiting area. Straight to the elevator. That couldn't be normal. The doors slid open, and we entered.

My pulse hammered louder with every floor we climbed. Finally, the elevator stopped. The doors opened.

A private hallway stretched ahead. Quiet, elegant, and intimidating.

At the far end stood a single door. Liam stopped walking. "So this is where I leave you." I stared at him. "What?" "Mr. Craig is waiting inside."

My heart skipped. Suddenly every ounce of confidence disappeared. I wasn't ready. Not even close.

Liam seemed to notice. "Relax, Ms. George." Easy for him to say. He wasn't about to meet a billionaire who apparently knew secrets about his family. I swallowed hard.

Then turned toward the door. One question remained. The question that had been bothering me all night. I looked back at Liam. "Before I go in there..."

"Yes?" "The text message." His expression became unreadable. Completely blank. And that terrified me. "What about it?" I took a shaky breath.

"Who sent it?" For the first time since meeting him, Liam hesitated. Just for a second, but it was enough. Because when he finally answered, his voice was quieter than before.

"That wasn't from us." My blood ran cold.

The door behind me suddenly opened. And a deep male voice said— "Ms. George. I've been expecting you."