oo much, pressing down, threatening to crack the fragile facade of my everyday life. There was only one person I could possibly talk

, almost predatory. They didn't just profit from the fall, they seemed to... accelerate it? Carve it up? My stomac

e Industries before breakfast. So this guy, I thought, staring at a candid shot of him stepping out of a sle

this guy's path. The thought was more intimidating than the lawyers or the scandals. I needed to ta

ghost." Close, I thought grimly. "Something like that," I mumbled, heading towards

se. What's up? Everything okay?" I leaned against the counter. "Marco, I... yesterday wasn't just a bug.

listening. Whatever it is." "Remember how I was acting weird? I got this letter yesterday." I pulled it

l relation to... Charles Whitmore." Marco's eyes widened. "Charles Whitmore? The tech guy?" "Yeah," I conf

rse? How?" Marco asked, his brow furrowed with concern. "Well," I started, "according to everything I read online last night, my newly discovered father

He... suicide? Oh, Ellie. God." "Yeah," I said wearily. "So, my dad is a dead, disgraced, alleged criminal mastermind. And get this – there's this

sounds like they practically danced on my father's corporate grave." I shuddered. "The idea of dealing with l

t thing anyone has ever told me." "And yeah, it's incredibly messed up," Marco continued. "Scandal, suicide, corporate vultures... it's a nightmare." I nodded. "

ally. This Blackwood guy sounds like bad news, and the whole situation is toxic waste dump level bad. But... thi

, confronting it, is something you need to do?" "What if knowing the truth, even the ugly parts, is better than living with the ghost of the 'deadbeat dad' story?" He tapped the lett

e. But maybe it leads somewhere else. Don't you think you owe it to yourself to at least peek through?" I sta

th Julian Blackwood tomorrow. But... what about one phone call? Just one call to the lawyers listed on this lette

c legal jargon. Find out what remained of Charles Whitmore's legacy. Find out if

beneath the Whitmore Industries letterhead. It seemed like such a small thing, dialing a number. But i

alculating my survival budget, knowing this colossal, unanswered question ex

the letter back to me. "Think about it, Ellie. Seriously." He

with possibility and peril. Marco's words resonated: Don't you owe it to yourself to find out? And a new, sharper though

first time, ignoring the letter felt impossible