Caroline pushed open the peeling oak doors of St. Mary's Orphanage. The rusted hinges let out a loud, familiar groan. The air inside smelled of cheap industrial bleach and burnt apple pie.
She walked quickly down the worn linoleum hallway. Three small children playing with broken blocks saw her. They ran over and wrapped their arms around her legs. Caroline forced her stiff facial muscles to soften, giving them a gentle, reassuring smile.
She reached Director Gable's office. Through the gaps in the plastic blinds, she saw a man sitting on the cheap vinyl sofa. He wore a bespoke Savile Row suit and had perfectly combed silver hair.
A cold spike of dread pierced Caroline's chest. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
The old man's sharp eyes locked onto her instantly.
Director Gable stood up, wringing her hands nervously. "Caroline, this is Mr. Alistair Finch. He is the head butler for the Ross family."
The name 'Ross' hit Caroline like a physical blow. Graydon's cold, furious face flashed in her mind. Her heart skipped a beat, her palms instantly growing clammy.
Finch stood up. He offered a crisp, formal bow, his British accent flawless. "Miss Bishop. It is an honor."
Caroline took a step back. Her hands tightened around the straps of her canvas bag until her knuckles turned white. "What do you want?"
Finch pulled a thick, gold-embossed envelope from his jacket. "Matilda Ross, the matriarch of the family, requests your immediate presence at the Hampton estate."
Caroline stared at the envelope like it was a venomous snake. She let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "I'm an orphan. I have nothing to do with billionaires who live on Fifth Avenue. Tell her no."
Finch didn't blink. He calmly opened his leather briefcase and pulled out a faded, yellowing photograph. He placed it on the desk.
It was a picture of a young, smiling woman standing next to an older Matilda Ross.
Caroline's breath hitched. It was her mother, Lorelei. Smiling. Sane.
Her tough exterior shattered in an instant. Her throat closed up, and her eyes burned with unshed tears.
"Lorelei Bishop did not disappear," Finch said quietly, dropping the bomb. "She suffered a severe psychological trauma. She is currently being housed in the medical annex of the Ross estate, receiving secret, round-the-clock care."
Caroline stumbled backward. Her hip slammed into the edge of the desk. A heavy metal globe tipped over and crashed onto the floor, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the small room.
She lunged forward, grabbing the lapels of Finch's expensive suit. "You locked her up?! Why didn't you tell me? Where have you been for the last fifteen years?!"
Finch let her shake him. His expression remained perfectly neutral. "The circumstances are... complicated. If you want the truth, you must come to the estate."
Director Gable rushed forward, gently pulling Caroline's hands away from the butler. "Caroline, please. You can't fight the Ross family. They own half the city."
Caroline collapsed into the hard wooden chair. She buried her face in her hands. Her mind was a war zone. Going to the estate meant walking straight into Graydon's territory. But refusing meant abandoning her mother forever.
She lowered her hands. Her eyes were red, but her gaze was pure steel. "If I go, you guarantee she gets the best medical care possible."
"You have my word," Finch said. He slid a thick legal document across the desk. "This is a trust fund established in your name. A gesture of goodwill."
Caroline didn't even glance at the zeroes on the paper. She shoved it back across the desk. "I don't want your money. I'm going for my mother."
A flicker of genuine respect crossed Finch's eyes. He packed away the papers. "A car will be here in one hour to take you to the Hamptons."
Finch walked out. Caroline stood by the window, staring at the cracked pavement outside. She was walking into a shark tank.
Director Gable handed her a mug of hot tea. "Be careful, Caroline. Those people play by different rules."
Caroline gripped the ceramic mug, letting the scalding heat thaw her freezing fingers. "I'll survive. I always do."
She went to the staff bathroom. She washed the dried blood off her knees and changed into a clean, cheap black pencil skirt and blazer she kept in her locker. She needed armor.
An hour later, a massive black Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled up to the curb. The neighborhood kids stared in awe at the shiny metal.
The driver opened the door. Caroline stepped inside, feeling like she was walking to her own execution.
The heavy door clicked shut, sealing her in complete silence. The smell of the rich leather seats instantly brought back the terrifying memory of the Maybach.
The Rolls-Royce glided away from Brooklyn, speeding toward the extreme wealth of Long Island. Caroline closed her eyes and braced for the storm.
