One quiet night in their Bel Air kitchen, Serena laughed—truly laughed—for the first time since the ordeal. Addie tried to teach Grant how to eat street tacos “the right way,” teasing him when he held the tortilla like it was a legal document.
Grant watched them both and felt something new settle into his chest.
They had tried to erase his wife.
They had tried to bury a lie.
But they hadn’t counted on the most dangerous force in any city:
A child with nothing to lose and the nerve to shout the truth.
The Past Doesn’t Stay Buried
Three months later, the mansion felt calm again.
Too calm.
For Serena and Grant, the quiet was a luxury.
For Addie, the quiet sounded like danger.
She woke at night with her heart racing, reaching for old habits that didn’t belong in silk sheets.
At her new private school, kids stared at her like she was a rumor made real.
One morning, when Addie opened her locker, something fell out that didn’t belong.
A battered doll missing an eye.
Addie’s breath stopped.
She knew that doll.
It was the only thing she’d kept when she slept near downtown, and it had been stolen years ago.
Pinned to the doll was a note made from cut-out letters:
Pretty houses don’t change where you came from. You owe what you owe.
That afternoon, Grant found Addie sitting stiffly in the garden, holding the doll like it was a threat.
Serena stood beside her, face pale, eyes alert.
“Who is this?” Grant asked, voice low. “Who would send that?”
Addie swallowed. “A guy from where I used to work corners,” she whispered. “People called him Wrench. He took money from everyone. Even kids.”
Grant’s jaw tightened. “I’ll handle it.”
Addie snapped her head up. “No. You don’t understand. If you hit him straight, it gets loud. It spreads. It doesn’t end clean.”
Serena stepped between Grant and Addie, her voice steady in a way Grant recognized from survival.
“We don’t answer old problems with ego,” Serena said. “We answer them with strategy.”
Grant exhaled hard. “Then tell me what we do.”
Serena’s eyes narrowed. “We set the rules.”
