Chapter 2 - THE WOODEN STAR
Grant looked at the girl standing on the other side of the wrought-iron gate.
She was nine years old, swimming in a faded denim jacket that had clearly belonged to an older sibling. Her sneakers were scuffed white canvas, grayed by miles of walking, and the laces were double-knotted. She held the brown paper bag with both hands, clutching it to her chest as if it contained fragile glass.
Behind her, the affluent Seattle street stretched out in perfect, manicured silence. There were no cars idling at the curb. No parents waiting. Just this one child, standing like a solitary lighthouse in a sea of empty pavement.
Grant’s chest tightened. His first instinct was to shield his daughter. Nova had already endured the silent rejection of twenty-eight absent children today. He could not allow a stranger, a child who had wandered in off the street, to somehow make this afternoon any heavier for her.
“Hello, Sky,” Grant said, his voice dropping into the low, calm register he used in boardrooms to de-escalate tension. He stepped closer to the bars. “I’m Grant. Are you lost? Where are your parents?”
Sky did not flinch. She looked up at him with large, dark eyes that held a startling amount of gravity for someone so young.
“I’m not lost,” she said quietly. “My mom is parked down the block. Near the big oak tree.”
Grant glanced down the street. He could just make out the rear bumper of a rusted silver sedan parked half a block away. The engine wasn't running.
“Sky,” Grant said gently. “This is a private residence. We are hosting a party right now. If you’re selling something, or if you need help—”
“Dad?”
Grant froze.
He turned around. Nova had wheeled her chair out from beneath the canopy of golden balloons. She was moving across the stone patio, the electric motor of her chair whining softly in the quiet garden. Juny walked three paces behind her, a silent guardian.
Nova stopped a few feet from the gate. She looked at the empty chairs, then at Sky.
“Are you here for the space camp?” Nova asked. Her voice was pure, unfiltered hope. There was no suspicion in her tone. Only the desperate, quiet desire of a child who had spent two hours waiting for a single friend to arrive.
Sky looked at Nova, taking in the wheelchair, the silver stars on Nova’s shirt, and the elaborate, untouched party behind her.
“Yes,” Sky said, her voice steady. “I came for the party.”
Grant felt a sudden, sharp ache in his throat. He looked at Sky, about to intervene, about to explain that this wasn't appropriate. But then he saw Nova’s face.
Nova was smiling. A real, brilliant smile that reached her eyes. The heavy, crushing weight of the afternoon seemed to evaporate from her small shoulders.
“Dad,” Nova said, looking up at him. “Can you open the gate, please?”
Grant looked at his daughter. He looked at the twenty-eight empty chairs. And then he looked at the girl in the frayed jacket.
He keyed in the code on the heavy iron keypad. The gate swung inward with a soft electronic hum.
Sky stepped cautiously onto the immaculate stone pavers. She looked around at the towering hedges, the pristine tables, and the waiting caterers, but she didn't seem intimidated. She walked directly up to Nova’s wheelchair.
“I’m Nova,” the birthday girl said.
“I’m Sky.”
Sky held out the brown paper bag. The top was folded over twice and creased with sharp, deliberate care.
“I brought you a present,” Sky said softly. “My mom said we couldn't afford wrapping paper. I’m sorry.”
“I don't care about the paper,” Nova said, taking the bag. “Thank you.”
Grant stepped closer, his protective instincts flaring. He watched closely as Nova unfolded the top of the paper bag and reached her small hand inside.
He didn't know what to expect. A cheap toy. A used book.
What Nova pulled out of the bag made the breath leave Grant’s lungs in a violent rush.
It was a star. A perfect, five-pointed star carved from a solid block of dark cherry wood. It was sanded impossibly smooth, the grain of the wood polished to a warm, glowing finish. It was not a toy you could buy in a store. It was heavy, deliberate, and crafted with immense skill.
And it was identical to the wooden star that sat on Grant’s desk in his downtown office. The star his late wife, Marin, had carved for him on their fifth anniversary.
Nova ran her thumb over the smooth wood. “It’s beautiful.”
“My mom made it,” Sky said. “She said your mom used to love them.”
Grant felt the blood drain from his face. The garden around him seemed to tilt.
Your mom used to love them.
“Who is your mother?” Grant asked, his voice suddenly sharp.
Sky looked up at him, intimidated for the first time. But before she could answer, Nova reached deeper into the paper bag.
“There’s a card,” Nova said cheerfully.
She pulled out a piece of thick, heavy cardstock. It was crumpled, as if it had been balled up in a fist and then painstakingly smoothed flat again.
Grant recognized the paper instantly. It was the gold-foiled invitation he had mailed out to the elite families of Nova’s private school four weeks ago.
But as Nova turned it over, Grant saw the ink.
Across the beautiful, embossed calligraphy of the invitation, someone had taken a thick red marker and scrawled a violent, jagged message.
Grant stepped forward and snatched the card from Nova’s hand before she could read it.
“Dad!” Nova gasped, startled by his sudden movement.
“I’m sorry, star girl,” Grant breathed, his heart hammering against his ribs. “I just… I need to see this.”
He turned slightly away from the girls, holding the crumpled invitation up to the sunlight.
The red ink bled into the expensive paper. The words were written in a sharp, unmistakable cursive.
Let the cripple sit alone today. If you attend, your company loses our funding. — E.S.
Grant stared at the initials.
E.S.
The sixteen cancellations. The sudden "scheduling conflicts." The twenty-eight empty chairs. It hadn't been a tragic coincidence. It hadn't been simple, cruel prejudice from a group of wealthy parents.
It was an orchestrated boycott. A deliberate, targeted strike against his nine-year-old daughter.
Grant felt a dark, terrifying rage ignite in his chest. A rage so pure and hot it tasted like copper on his tongue.
He knew exactly who E.S. was.
Evelyn Sterling.
Evelyn was the largest shareholder in Hawthorne Biotech’s primary venture capital firm. She was a woman who smiled at charity galas and destroyed lives behind closed doors. And she was Marin’s former best friend.
Grant looked down at the child standing in his garden.
“Sky,” Grant said, his voice shaking with a terrible, restrained fury. He dropped to one knee, forcing himself to look the little girl in the eyes. “Where did you get this invitation?”
Sky swallowed hard, her eyes darting to the imposing mansion, then back to Grant.
“My mom found it,” Sky whispered. “She cleans Mrs. Sterling’s office at night. She saw it in the trash can. She read it, and she started crying. She said we had to come here today. She said Nova shouldn't be alone.”
Grant closed his eyes. The weight of the revelation crashed over him like a physical blow.
Evelyn Sterling had deliberately isolated his daughter to break him.
“Miss Doway,” Grant said, his voice eerily calm as he stood up.
The house manager stepped forward instantly. “Yes, sir.”
“Stay with Nova and Sky. Tell the caterers to serve the cake.”
“Dad, where are you going?” Nova asked, clutching the wooden star to her chest.
Grant looked at his daughter, forcing a smile that cost him everything he had left.
“I have to go talk to Sky’s mother, sweetheart,” Grant said. “I’ll be right back.”
Grant turned and walked toward the open iron gates. He didn't run. He walked with the heavy, measured strides of a man going to war.
May you like
He was going to find the rusted silver sedan parked down the street. Because if Sky’s mother knew how to carve that cherry wood star, she wasn't just a cleaning lady.
She was someone from Grant’s past. Someone who knew exactly what Evelyn Sterling had done.
