THE LAKE COTTAGE LIES

The headlights from the driveway swept across the living room walls like a searchlight.

“Get upstairs,” Julian hissed, scooping the six-year-old boy into his arms. He shoved Evelyn toward a heavy wooden door tucked beneath the staircase. “It’s the old cellar. Lock it from the inside and do not make a sound.”

Evelyn didn't argue. She slipped into the dark, damp space, pulling the door shut just as the front door handle clicked open. Through the wooden slats of the door, she could see the living room.

Sabrina stepped inside, kicking off her expensive heels. The pearls were gone, but the rage on her face was clear. She wasn't wearing her coat.

“Julian!” Sabrina barked, throwing her keys onto the glass coffee table. “Where is he?”

Julian stepped into the light, holding the little boy against his chest. “He’s sleeping, Sabrina. Why are you back from the city so early? Did the dinner end?”

“The dinner was a disaster,” Sabrina snapped, pouring herself a glass of bourbon from the crystal decanter on the sideboard. “Brad’s useless wife showed up. She blocked the sale.”

Evelyn clamped her hand over her mouth, her heart hammering against her ribs.

“She blocked it?” Julian asked, his voice trembling slightly. “But the buyers were wiring the funds tomorrow. What happens to the debt?”

“I don't care about Brad's debt,” Sabrina said coldly, taking a sip. “I care about the offshore account. If that twenty-eight million doesn't clear by Friday, the people I owe money to are going to take it out on my family. And that includes you.”

Sabrina walked over to Julian and looked at the little boy.

“Put him to bed,” she ordered. “We’re leaving tomorrow. Pack everything.”

“Leaving?” Julian backed away. “We can't leave. What about Claire?”

Evelyn’s blood turned to ice. Claire. Why was Julian asking about her daughter?

“Claire is a pawn,” Sabrina sneered. “Brad put this house in her name to hide it from his wife. When the company collapses on Friday, the feds will seize everything in Brad’s name. But they won't touch a private trust owned by his adult daughter. We sell the house out from under Claire next month, take the cash, and disappear.”

“But the boy,” Julian whispered, holding the child tighter. “You can't just take him. He needs his mother.”

Sabrina laughed, a harsh, terrifying sound. “His mother is a naive idiot who thought she was protecting her family by signing over her parental rights to a fake clinic. She doesn't even know he's alive.”

Evelyn stopped breathing.

Six years ago, Claire had gotten pregnant. She was twenty-two, unmarried, and terrified. Brad had handled it. He told Evelyn he had sent Claire to a private, discrete facility in upstate New York to have the baby and give it up for a closed adoption to a wealthy, loving family. Evelyn had held a sobbing Claire for weeks, mourning the grandchild they would never know.

Evelyn looked through the slats at the little boy's face.

He didn't just have blonde hair. He had Claire’s nose. Claire’s chin.

He was Evelyn's grandson.

Brad hadn't given the baby to a wealthy family. He had given the baby to his mistress to raise in Evelyn's stolen house, using the child as leverage to force Sabrina into a fake marriage with Julian? No, the pieces were shifting.

“Put him down, Julian,” Sabrina commanded, stepping forward.

“No,” Julian said, his voice finding a sudden, desperate strength. “You’re not taking him. You’ve used him to blackmail Brad for six years. Brad only started sleeping with you because you threatened to tell Evelyn and Claire that you kept the baby. He only gave you this house to keep you quiet!”

The reversal hit Evelyn like a physical blow.

Brad wasn't having a mid-life crisis. Brad had been trapped. He had given his grandson to Sabrina's family in a desperate, illegal adoption scheme to hide Claire’s pregnancy from the press and protect the company's image before an initial public offering. But Sabrina had kept the child, using him to extort Brad for millions, forcing him to play the role of the devoted lover while she bled his company dry.

“I'm calling the police,” Julian said, reaching for his phone.

Sabrina didn't blink. She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a small, silver handgun.

“Put the phone down, little brother,” Sabrina said, pointing the weapon directly at Julian's chest. “You’re going to pack the bags. And then we’re going to take a long drive.”

Evelyn’s hand drifted in the dark. Her fingers brushed against something leaning against the cellar wall.

It was heavy. Cold. Metal.

Her father's antique hunting rifle.

Evelyn gripped the barrel. She didn't know if it was loaded. She didn't care. She was a mother, and a grandmother, and she had spent thirty years letting people take things from her.