The Crimson Ink That Exposed A Family Legacy Of Lies
The sky was a dull, heavy gray, and a thin drizzle began to smear across my windshield.
I turned on the wipers, their rhythmic squeaking the only sound in the car.
I kept checking my rearview mirror, half-expecting to see Daniel’s black SUV tailing me.
My thoughts drifted to Lucas and Mason.
I had left them with my sister, but I knew Daniel’s lawyers were already drafting emergency custody papers.
I had to find something to stop him, and I had to find it today.
The city thinned out as I drove north.
The concrete buildings gave way to overgrown lots and rusted chain-link fences.
The old reservoir was a dark, flat expanse of water surrounded by dead trees.
I turned onto a narrow, cracked asphalt road that hugged the water’s edge.
The houses here were small, single-story cottages built in the nineteen-fifties.
Many had peeling paint and overgrown lawns.
I slowed down, looking at the rusted house numbers on the mailboxes.
I found number 1422 at the very end of the lane.
It was a small blue house with a covered porch and white trim that had turned yellow.