Chapter 3

The world outside the mansion walls moved on. The news cycle, ravenous and fleeting, talked about the "Tragic Sterling Case." Pundits on TV speculated.

"A brilliant but troubled woman," one said, her face a mask of practiced sympathy. "It' s a known fact that genius often walks hand-in-hand with instability."

"Richard Sterling is a titan of industry," another argued. "He must be devastated. Imagine the pressure, trying to manage an empire while his wife was... struggling."

They swallowed my father' s narrative whole. The perfect, grieving husband. The reclusive, unstable wife. The story was clean, simple, and wrong. It made me sick. The anger was a hot, constant thing in my chest.

I had to talk to him. I had to hear his voice, even if it was full of lies. I needed to know if there was any part of him left that remembered being my father.

My grandmother was in the kitchen, talking to a lawyer on the phone. I crept into the library and used the old landline, dialing the private number for his car that I had memorized. It rang four times, then he picked up.

"What?" he barked. There was music in the background, something light and classical.

"Dad?" My voice trembled. "It' s Ava."

A heavy sigh on the other end of the line. "Ava, I am in the middle of a very important meeting. This is not the time."

"They found her," I said, the words sticking in my throat. "They found Mom. In the woods. Dad, she' s..."

"I know," he cut me off, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "I saw the news alerts. It' s a tragedy. A terrible, terrible tragedy."

He sounded like he was reading from a press release.

"But Dad..."

"But nothing, Ava," he snapped, his patience gone. "This is exactly the kind of stunt I was talking about. She runs off, does something reckless to get attention, and this is the result. She never thought about the consequences, about how this would affect the company, or you, or me."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He was blaming her. He was blaming my dead mother for being killed.

"She didn' t run off!" I cried, my control shattering. "You sent her away! Those men took her!"

"Those men were taking her to a wellness retreat in the mountains, Ava. A place where she could get help. She must have panicked and run from them. It' s her own fault." His voice was firm, absolute. He was rewriting history in real-time. "Charlotte and I are handling the arrangements. This is a delicate time for the company' s image. I need you to be strong and not fall for these... emotional manipulations."

"Manipulations?" I whispered.

"Yes. Your mother has filled your head with lies about me for years. You have to be strong. For me." He paused, and his tone shifted, becoming softer, almost gentle. It was his deal-closing voice. "Listen, Ava. I' m closing a big merger. It' s critical. I' ll be back in a week, maybe two. We' ll sort everything out then. We' ll be a family again, I promise. Just you, me, and Charlotte. A proper family."

The line went dead.

I stood there, the receiver pressed to my ear, listening to the dial tone. A proper family. The words echoed in the silent room. He had erased my mother and was already building a new life on top of her grave.

Panic seized me. I was alone in this. My father was the enemy. The world believed his lies. I needed help.

My hands shook as I fumbled through the old address book in the desk drawer. V... Vance. I found the number for my mother' s brother, Dr. Ethan Vance. He was a scientist, like her, working at a university a few states away. I hadn' t seen him in years, but my mother always talked about him with such love.

I dialed the number. He answered on the second ring.

"Hello?" His voice was warm, a little distracted.

"Uncle Ethan?" I whispered.

There was a pause. "Ava? Is that you? What' s wrong?"

The dam broke. Sobs tore through me, raw and uncontrolled. I couldn' t form words, just sounds of pure grief and terror.

"Ava, slow down, breathe," he said, his voice instantly sharp with concern. "I' m here. Tell me what happened."

I told him everything. The drone, the men in suits, my father' s coldness, the phone call. I told him about Charlotte and the parked car. I told him they found my mom in the woods.

He listened without interrupting. The silence on his end of the line was heavy, charged with a growing fury that I could feel even through the phone.

When I finished, my voice was a hoarse whisper.

"He' s not coming back," I said. "He doesn' t care."

"I care, Ava," Ethan said, his voice thick with emotion. "I care. I' m on my way. I' m booking the first flight out. Don' t talk to anyone. Don' t let anyone in the house except your grandmother. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"I' ll be there by morning. I promise. We' re going to get through this. We' re going to find out what really happened to your mother." He paused, and I heard him take a shaky breath. "I' m so sorry, Ava. I' m so, so sorry."

For the first time in a week, I felt a tiny flicker of something other than fear. It was hope. It was the knowledge that I wasn' t completely alone anymore. Someone else knew the truth. Someone else loved my mother. Someone was coming.