Chapter 7
Karli pushed open the heavy glass door of a cheap diner on the edge of the financial district. The tarnished brass bell above the frame let out a sad, clinking sound.
She walked to a sticky booth in the far corner and slid onto the cracked vinyl seat. She ordered a bottomless black coffee from a tired waitress and pulled a stack of wrinkled resumes from her canvas bag.
She uncapped a red pen. Her hand moved mechanically, drawing thick, angry lines through the names of four different companies. Every single one had rejected her the second they saw her parole status.
Mounted on the wall above the counter, a flat-screen TV blared the local entertainment news. The volume was too loud, cutting through the low hum of the diner.
Karli took a sip of the bitter coffee. The anchor's overly enthusiastic voice suddenly mentioned the names "Preston Vance" and "Kandi Oneal."
Karli's hand jerked. Hot coffee sloshed over the rim of the thick ceramic mug, burning her knuckles. Her eyes snapped to the television screen, her breathing instantly growing shallow.
The screen showed live footage of a high-society charity gala. Preston, looking immaculate in a tailored tuxedo, was smiling warmly as he escorted Kandi down the red carpet.
Kandi wore a breathtaking, midnight-blue designer gown covered in crystals. She clung to Preston's arm, flashing a shy, perfectly practiced smile at the flashing cameras. She looked exactly like the innocent victim she had pretended to be three years ago.
A reporter shoved a microphone toward Kandi's face, asking about their upcoming engagement party.
Kandi looked directly into the camera. She put on a sorrowful expression and said that despite the terrible things her sister Karli had done, she still prayed Karli would come and give them her blessing.
Karli stared at the screen. Her stomach violently convulsed. The sheer audacity of the lie made bile rise in the back of her throat. Her fingers clamped down on the red pen. With a sharp crack, the plastic casing snapped in half, leaking red ink onto her palms.
The camera zoomed in for a tight close-up of Kandi's neck. Resting against her collarbone was a massive, teardrop-shaped blue sapphire surrounded by diamonds.
Karli's pupils dilated. Her lungs stopped working. She recognized that necklace instantly. It was the "Heart of the Ocean." It belonged to her late grandfather. It was her mother's heirloom.
A white-hot rage ignited in her chest, burning away the exhaustion and the despair. She stared at the sapphire, her chest heaving.
Seeing the necklace acted like a physical key turning in a rusted lock. A buried memory from her grandfather's study suddenly flickered in her mind. She remembered her grandfather, frail and coughing, signing a thick stack of legal documents. He had mentioned a trust fund, something about equity shares, but the exact terms were lost in the trauma of the past three years.
Karli stood up so fast her knees slammed into the underside of the table. The heavy wooden chair screeched against the linoleum floor, causing several patrons to turn and stare.
Her mind raced. She was married. The ink on the certificate at City Hall was dry. Could that change things?
Karli grabbed her mug and downed the rest of the scalding coffee in one gulp. The bitter burn grounded her. Her eyes lost their defeated glaze, replaced by a cold, predatory focus.
She swept the ruined resumes into her bag, ignoring the red ink staining her fingers. She marched out of the diner, pushing the glass door open with enough force to rattle the frame.
She stepped into the blinding afternoon sun and immediately stepped off the curb, raising her hand to flag down a passing yellow cab.
She climbed into the back seat. Her voice was hard and flat as she gave the driver the address to the Lewis estate.
As the cab merged onto the highway, Karli pulled out her phone. Her thumbs flew across the screen, pulling up the Illinois state statutes on irrevocable trusts and asset transfers.
She read the legal jargon, her eyes darting across the glowing screen. Slowly, the specific clauses began to align with her fragmented memories. The terms of the trust finally crystalized in her head: The twenty percent equity shares would automatically transfer to her sole possession upon her twenty-fourth birthday, or the day she was legally married.
A dark, humorless smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. She had met the condition. She wasn't a penniless ex-con begging for minimum-wage jobs. She was the second-largest shareholder of the company Warren was currently bleeding dry. She was going to rip her life back from their hands.
Miles away, in the opulent living room of the Lewis estate, Warren was pacing frantically, screaming into his phone about the frozen credit lines. Myra was adjusting the hem of Kandi's new engagement dress, assuring her that once she married Preston, the Vance family money would save them.
The yellow cab pulled up to the towering wrought-iron gates. Karli paid the driver and stepped out onto the pavement.
She tilted her head back, staring up at the massive stone facade of the mansion that had been her prison for over a decade. She didn't hesitate. She walked up to the intercom and pressed her thumb hard against the buzzer.
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