Chapter 2 - The Name Nobody Was Supposed to Remember
Alexander’s grandmother was named Margaret Blake.
I knew that because her portrait hung in the lobby of Blake International.
I had cleaned the glass beneath it dozens of times.
The photograph showed a powerful woman with silver hair, perfect posture, and the expression of someone who had survived everything.
But now Margaret looked terrified.
“Your mother was Elena Morales?”
“Yes.”
“When did she die?”
I tightened my hands.
“Fourteen years ago.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
Alexander touched her elbow.
“Grandmother, what’s happening?”
She ignored him.
“How old are you, Lena?”
“Twenty-eight.”
Her eyes opened.
“Then it is you.”
Vanessa scoffed.
“This is getting ridiculous.”
Margaret turned so sharply that Vanessa stepped back.
“Leave us.”
Vanessa blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“Leave.”
Alexander frowned.
“Grandmother—”
“You too.”
Nobody in that ballroom laughed anymore.
Margaret led me into a private library behind the reception hall.
Alexander followed anyway.
So did Vanessa.
Apparently billionaires were not especially good at following instructions.
Margaret closed the door.
Then she faced me.
“Your mother trained at the Manhattan Academy of Classical Dance.”
My breath stopped.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I paid for it.”
Alexander stared at her.
“You what?”
Margaret walked toward an old desk.
“Your mother was one of the most gifted dancers I had ever seen.”
I shook my head.
“My mother told me she received scholarships.”
“She did.”
Margaret opened a drawer.
“From me.”
My knees suddenly felt weak.
She removed an old photograph.
Two young women stood inside a dance studio.
One was Margaret, decades younger.
The other was my mother.
Mom was laughing.
My hands trembled as I touched the photograph.
“I’ve never seen this.”
Margaret looked away.
“Elena worked for our family before she began teaching dance. Your grandmother and I became friends. Later, when Elena’s daughter showed extraordinary talent, she asked me to help with your training.”
I stared at her.
“Why didn’t she ever tell me?”
“Pride.”
That sounded like Mom.
But something still felt wrong.
“Why did you look frightened when you recognized her name?”
Margaret went silent.
Alexander stepped forward.
“Grandmother.”
She exhaled slowly.
“Because Lena’s mother didn’t simply disappear from our lives.”
My heart pounded.
“What does that mean?”
Margaret looked toward Alexander.
“Your father was involved.”
Alexander froze.
“My father?”
Richard Blake.
Founder of Blake International.
Business legend.
Dead for six years.
His face appeared in magazines, documentaries, and framed photographs throughout the company.
Margaret opened another drawer.
Inside was a yellowed envelope.
My mother’s name was written across it.
“Elena discovered something about Richard’s company,” Margaret said. “Something he believed could destroy him.”
“What?”
“I never knew the complete truth.”
Vanessa laughed nervously.
“So we’re discussing ancient family drama because a maid can dance?”
I looked at her.
“My mother died two weeks after she stopped teaching.”
Margaret’s face changed.
I noticed it immediately.
“What happened two weeks before she died?”
Margaret didn’t answer.
I stepped closer.
“What happened?”
Finally, she whispered, “She came to this house.”
My pulse hammered.
“She was carrying documents.”
Alexander’s face hardened.
“What documents?”
Margaret stared at us.
“She said Richard Blake had stolen millions from employee pensions.”
May you like
The room went completely still.
“And she said she had proof.”
