Page 38 of Dark Prince

“We could split up and cover more ground,” Elena suggests, eyeing the sprawling floors. “We might be able to accomplish more that way.”

I nod, disbelieving the opportunity I’ve just been given. “Great idea. Can I meet you back here in an hour?”

“Deal. Don't get lost,” she winks, heading toward the escalator. “And don’t try to ditch your bodyguard either!” she adds over her shoulder.

I have one hour. The office is ten minutes away. I might be able to finish the meeting with Frank and get back here before she suspects anything.

As soon as she's out of sight, I tell the guard that remains with me that I need to use the restroom. He nods and stands out front with his back to the door. Thankfully, there is a small commotion as two women start to argue over one remaining sweater on a rack, and I am able to slip away without him noticing.

Ducking through a side door marked ‘Employees Only,’ I slip into the back corridors of the store, my steps quick and quiet.

Emerging on the opposite side, I glance back to make sure I'm not being followed before hailing a cab. “Downtown, and step on it,” I tell the driver, sinking low into the seat as we pull away.

Chapter 22

Maura

As the city blurs past, I feel guilty for betraying Elena. She’s been nothing but supportive, and here I am, ditching her, all to play Nancy Drew with my family's dark legacy. But this isn't about Elena; it's about Luk, our baby, and securing a future free from the dangers of my family's past.

My conscience berates me as I scroll through the unread messages piling up on my phone. Finally, I cave and read through Elena's texts. They range from mildly concerned to full-blown panic mode to anger.

Where are you?

Are you okay?

If you haven’t been kidnapped, I’m going to kick your ass.

So much for sneaking back.

I switch off my phone, a lump forming in my throat. Going dark feels like stepping off a cliff, but I can't take the risk that Luk or his Bratva buddies can track me. Besides, I only need an hour or so.

The cab pulls up in front of a towering skyscraper, all glass and cold, hard steel. It's the kind of place that screams power and money, and not necessarily in that order. I step out, squaring my shoulders as I face the imposing building.

The lobby is all sleek lines and hushed tones, the kind of quiet that makes my footsteps sound like gunshots. I make a beeline for the elevators, hitting the button for Mr. Dreschel's floor with more force than necessary. The ride up is a slow climb to Judgment Day, my stomach flip-flopping like a fish out of water.

The attorney’s office looks just like I remember it, all plush carpeting and elegant upholstery. The air is thick with a seriousness that makes my heart sink a little lower with each step. Something's off. The receptionist looks like she's carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“Hi, I'm Maura Flanagan. I have an appointment with Mr. Dreschel,” I announce with a smile, trying to inject a bit of enthusiasm into the somber atmosphere.

The receptionist meets my gaze, and I catch a glimpse of genuine worry flickering in her eyes. It's a look that says whatever she's about to tell me isn't good. She hesitates, her voice softening, “Ms. Flanagan, I'm so sorry. I meant to call you...”

A pause hangs between us, heavy and ominous. “What is it?” I prompt, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach.

She swallows hard, her next words coming out in a rush, “Mr. Dreschel died in a car accident last night. We're all in shock.”

The words hit me like a physical blow, leaving me momentarily breathless. Frank Dreschel—the man who was supposed to help me navigate through the murky waters of my family's legacy—gone just like that in a freak car accident? It doesn't seem possible.

I stand there, stunned, trying to process the news. Questions swirl through my mind, each one more urgent than the last. Who else knows about the will? Was it really an accident, or is there more to the story, especially given the danger that has been surrounding me lately? And, most importantly, what do I do now?

Trying to keep my voice as steady as possible, I lean in slightly, doing my best to come off as non-threatening. “Do you know if Mr. Dreschel... did he find out anything about my father’s will?”

The receptionist bites her lip, clearly torn. After a moment, she nods, reluctantly admitting, “Yes, he did. He was here late last night, working on it. Something about the will caught his interest, and whatever it was, he seemed to think it was important.” Her voice trails off, and she looks away, adding, “He was on his way home from here when the accident happened.”

She shakes her head in disbelief. “His car was brand-new,” she says. “And yet the police say the brakes failed. It's all so strange. Everything about it is just... off.”

Part of me wants to leave, so I don't risk upsetting the receptionist more than she already is. But the greater part of me understands this is an opportunity I can’t waste. “Would it be possible for me to take a look at the information he found?” I ask, trying to sound hopeful rather than desperate.

The receptionist hesitates, a silent battle playing out behind her eyes. Finally, she sighs, resignation etched into her features. “I suppose. Mr. Dreschel mentioned he was planning to call you first thing this morning. As I said, he seemed to think whatever he'd found was important, something you needed to know about right away.” She stands up, moving toward a file cabinet with a reluctance that tells me she's stepping out of her comfort zone.

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