His face turned the color of the winter sky outside.

“Whitmore?” Trevor stammered. “As in… Charles Whitmore?”

The old man unbuttoned the cheap coat, revealing a tailored charcoal suit underneath.

“Yes,” Charles said. His voice was no longer weak; it was deep and commanding.

He looked at Trevor with cold disgust.

“I wanted to see how my investments were being run,” Charles said. “And I see you are a bully.”

Charles turned his gaze to me, his expression softening.

“But you, Emily, have your father’s heart.”

I stared at him, my mind spinning. “You knew my father?”

“He saved my life once,” Charles said. “I owe him a debt I can never fully repay.”

Charles looked back at Trevor.

“You are fired, Trevor. Effective immediately.”

He then looked at me.

“Emily, I want you to take his place. You are the new manager of Crystal Oak.”

Trevor’s face twisted in rage and panic.

He looked at Charles, then at me, his eyes darting toward the back hallway where his office sat.

Charles reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a thick, cream-colored envelope.

“I came here to find you, Emily. Your father gave me this before he died. He told me to give it to you when the time was right.”

He handed me the envelope.

My fingers shook as I tore it open.

Inside was a single sheet of paper, written in my father’s hurried handwriting.

*Emily,* the letter read. *If you are reading this, they have told you I am dead. Do not trust the report. Do not trust anyone in this city.*

My breath hitched in my throat.

I looked up, my eyes wide. “My father… he’s alive?”

At that exact moment, a loud crash echoed from the back of the restaurant.

We turned to see Trevor bolt down the hallway toward his private office.