Chapter 3 Signed, Sealed... Sabotaged

The crash echoed like a gunshot in a church.

Alec's hand was suddenly on my arm, firm but not panicked. "Stay behind me."

"Do I look like someone who follows that order?" I whispered, heart hammering.

He gave me a tight look. "Then don't get killed. That'd ruin the mood."

We moved silently through the archives, the dim overhead lights flickering like we were in a low-budget horror film. The rows of metal filing cabinets and ancient yearbooks suddenly felt more like a trap than a resource.

Another noise. Closer this time paper rustling, followed by a low thud.

Someone was definitely there.

I pulled out my phone to use the flashlight. Alec stopped me with a glance.

"Whoever it is might be watching for that," he murmured.

"Great," I muttered. "We're playing hide and seek in a billionaire's mausoleum."

He led us down one of the back aisles, where the cabinets grew older and dustier. Half the drawers didn't even close right, and some were held shut with faded string or rusted locks. This was legacy territory where the oldest secrets were stashed.

Another thump.

I turned toward the sound and caught the briefest shadow moving across the back wall.

"Did you see that?" I whispered.

Alec nodded. "He's not running."

"Then what's he doing?"

"Waiting."

That made it worse.

We rounded the corner and there, just beyond the last row, was a tipped-over ladder, a box of files scattered around it.

But no one in sight.

"He was here," I said. "Like... seconds ago."

Alec crouched beside the box. "These are foundation records."

I scanned the label. "'Donor Program H 2003.' That's the same year your uncle vanished."

He nodded. "Same year your mom went quiet, too."

"What if this is what he came for?"

"Maybe."

Then something clicked.

"No. What if it's what they came to destroy?"

Alec's eyes met mine. "You think someone else was sent to cover this up?"

Before I could answer, the door at the far end of the hall slammed shut.

Both of us flinched.

We were definitely not alone.

Alec grabbed a handful of the documents and shoved them into his backpack. "We need to go."

"No arguments here."

We sprinted out of the archives, footsteps echoing way too loud. As we burst into the cold night air, I realized something chilling:

Whoever had been in there didn't want us dead.

Not yet.

They wanted us scared.

Message received.

The next morning, Dani practically tackled me at the dorm.

"You look like you just survived a murder podcast."

"I probably did."

I handed her a folder of the copies Alec made. She flipped through them, eyes widening.

"Whoa. What even is this?"

"Donation ledgers. Foundations. Money funneled through fake names and dead people."

Her jaw dropped. "The Delacroixs really don't believe in boring family trees."

"There's more," I said. "The trust that was supposed to go to my mom it wasn't just hidden. It was reassigned."

"Reassigned to who?"

"That's the part we don't know yet."

Dani looked genuinely spooked. "So... what's the end game here? Like, what does someone gain by making your mom disappear from these records?"

"Control. Money. Maybe a clean inheritance line."

"Or maybe something worse," she said quietly.

I didn't like the way she said that.

Later that day, I ducked into the library to breathe. No Alec. No Delacroix drama. Just quiet and dust and the comforting smell of old books.

I found a spot by the window and opened my laptop. I had exactly 43 minutes before my Econ class and I wasn't wasting it on supply chain theory.

Instead, I typed: "Delacroix Foundation + Project Huron + 2003"

Most of the results were scrubbed. Obvious PR plants. Sanitized mentions.

But then something weird popped up a cached version of an old local newspaper article from 2004. The headline:

"Kensington Grant Program Ends Abruptly Amid Audit"

I clicked it.

The article described a secretive student funding project privately backed by the Delacroix family shut down after "accounting discrepancies." The program was quietly buried, no charges filed.

One quote stood out:

"Multiple recipients were minors at the time. The Foundation declined to comment on the sudden termination."

Minors?

I scrolled down then paused.

There, in the blurry photo, was a young woman I recognized instantly.

My mom.

She looked barely twenty, clutching a certificate and smiling in that half-happy, half-nervous way I now knew too well.

The caption read: "Sylvia Monroe, one of the final recipients of the Huron Fellowship, 2003."

I didn't realize Alec was standing behind me until I heard him exhale.

"She was part of it," he said.

I jumped. "Could you not sneak up like that?"

"Habit."

"You're like a cryptid in Dior."

He smiled faintly, but his eyes were sharp. "You found the article."

"You knew about it?"

"I knew my grandfather ran something shady. I didn't know your mom was involved."

"Or that she might've been... selected."

That word made my skin crawl.

He sat beside me. "What if Project Huron wasn't just about money? What if it was a cover for something else?"

"Like what?"

"Like... controlling legacies. Off-record heirs. People they could groom or use."

I looked at the screen again. "Then why cut it off?"

"Maybe someone talked. Maybe your mom walked."

"And someone didn't like that."

We sat in silence for a beat.

Then Alec asked, "Do you think she knew?"

"Knew what?"

"That you were born into all this. That someone would come looking."

"I don't know," I whispered. "But if she did, she died protecting it."

He looked at me carefully. "Then maybe it's time we protect it back."

That night, Alec showed up at my dorm again this time with a small black flash drive and a look that meant trouble.

"I have something," he said. "But we can't open it here."

"Why not?"

"Because it could be traced. This thing came from my grandfather's personal safe."

"You hacked it?"

"Sort of. He died last year. His will left everything to my father. But the safe? It wasn't in the inventory."

I raised

Alec didn't flinch at the text, but something in his posture changed. Stiffer. Guarded.

"Do you recognize the number?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No name. No ID. Probably a burner."

He took my phone gently, his thumb brushing mine. "We can run it through a tracer. I know a guy."

"Of course you do," I muttered, not letting go of the tiny shiver that crawled up my spine from that accidental touch.

He looked up, eyes meeting mine. "Are you okay?"

I hesitated. That question so basic, so human felt suddenly huge.

I could lie. I could say, Yeah, fine, just unraveling my family's erasure and possibly being hunted by billionaires with silencers.

But instead, I said, "No. But I will be."

That answer earned a small, rare smile from him. The kind that made his sharp cheekbones a little softer. The kind that made it harder to remember all the reasons I shouldn't like him.

"I'll keep you safe," he said quietly.

I wanted to believe him. I really did.

We left the townhouse in silence, both of us constantly looking over our shoulders. Campus felt too quiet for 9:30 PM, like someone had pressed mute on the world.

Dani called just as I reached my dorm.

"Where are you?" she hissed. "Someone broke into our room."

"What?" I stopped dead.

"I'm serious. Nothing's missing like, nothing major. But your desk? Ransacked."

Panic hit my chest like a punch.

"Don't touch anything," I said, turning around. "I'm coming now."

Dani met us outside the building, arms crossed, face pale.

"They were looking for something specific," she said. "They didn't even touch my side."

I rushed into the room. The drawers I'd locked? Pried open. My laptop? Moved. Files Alec and I copied? Gone.

"They took the paper trail," I said.

"But they left the digital copy," Alec added. "They don't know you backed it up."

Dani locked the door behind us. "Okay, this is officially past Netflix-drama and into felony."

I slumped onto the bed, feeling the exhaustion finally crash over me. "They know I'm close. That's why they're pushing now."

"They're desperate," Alec said. "That's good."

I raised a brow. "Good?"

"It means they're scared of what we'll find next."

I looked between him and Dani. "Then we need to hit first."

The next morning, Alec sent me a name via text: Nina Brookes. Former nurse. Retired. Lives just outside the city.

The same nurse from the surveillance video.

"You sure she's still alive?" I asked.

"She left the hospital the same year the video was taken. Never gave a reason."

"And now we're going to knock on her door like mystery Scooby-Doo trust fund brats?"

He sent back: Exactly that. Pick you up at 3. Wear black. I don't know why. Just feels right.

Nina Brookes lived in a little brick cottage that looked like something out of a baking competition. Cozy, manicured lawn, gnome in the garden.

But when she opened the door and saw Alec, she didn't smile.

She went very, very still.

"I knew this day would come," she said, voice thin but sharp. "Which one of you is hers?"

I stepped forward. "Sylvia Monroe was my mom."

The name made her shoulders drop.

"Oh, sweet girl."

She let us in. Poured tea like we were talking about weather and not potential coverups and disappearances.

"I always wondered what happened to you," she said. "Your mother was brave. Too brave."

"What do you remember about that night?" Alec asked.

"Enough to know someone powerful was watching everything."

She opened a small wooden box and pulled out a sealed envelope.

"She gave this to me that night. Told me to only give it to her daughter if she ever... vanished."

My fingers trembled as I took it.

Inside was a handwritten letter. One page. No date. But her writing slanted, looping, rushed.

If you're reading this, it means I failed. It means they got to me, like they got to him. Don't trust the Foundation. Don't trust the inheritance. Find the ledger. The original. That's the only truth they couldn't burn.

Beneath that, one more line:

You were never a mistake, Ivy. You were my rebellion.

My throat closed. I folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope like it might break.

Alec didn't say anything, just rested his hand gently over mine.

Nina looked at him. "You're Philip's boy."

He nodded. "And I'm nothing like him."

She smiled, sad and knowing. "You better hope not."

Back on campus, the sun was dipping low painting the sky gold and blood-orange.

I leaned against Alec's car, the letter still clutched in my hand.

"She called me her rebellion," I said.

"She was right," he said softly. "You're not a legacy. You're a reckoning."

That made something spark in me. Like maybe this wasn't just about survival.

Maybe it was about flipping the whole script.

As he opened the door for me, a car pulled into the lot across from us.

Black. Windows tinted.

It stopped. Stayed.

"See that?" I whispered.

He nodded. "We're being watched."

My pulse spiked. "What do we do?"

Alec's voice was calm. Focused.

"We show them they picked the wrong people to scare."