Chapter 6 - The Blue Pills—The Apartment on 8th Street

I dropped the phone, knelt down, and ripped open the fabric lining of my handbag where I kept Ellie’s emergency supplies.

Tucked deep inside the lining was a small, unmarked prescription bottle filled with blue capsules.

“Aris, look at this,” I said, handing him the bottle.

Aris cracked one open, inspecting the white powder inside. “It’s a synthetic hallucinogen. Micro-dosed. Taken over three years, it would cause memory loss, paranoia, and severe manic episodes. They’ve been building a medical profile to prove you’re insane.”

“That’s why Grant always brought me coffee in bed,” I whispered, the betrayal burning like acid in my throat. “Every time I thought I lost my keys, every time I thought I heard footsteps… it was them.”

I threw the bottle onto the tracks. I wasn't crazy. I was the only sane person in a family of monsters.

“We have to go on the offensive,” I said, pulling the gold falcon phone back out. “I need leverage against Vanessa. She’s the weak link.”

I used my family’s backdoor access to run Vanessa’s real name through the city’s property registry. She owned a luxury apartment on 8th Street under a shell corporation.

I left Aris and Ellie in a secure motel room on the edge of Brooklyn, guarded by two trusted mercenaries Aris called in. I promised Ellie I would be right back.

I took the subway into Manhattan, bought a heavy wrench from a hardware store, and walked straight into Vanessa’s luxury building.

I bypassed the concierge, took the service elevator to the penthouse, and shattered the electronic lock on Vanessa’s front door with the wrench.

The apartment was immaculate, smelling of expensive perfume and lies.

I tore through her desk drawers, looking for leverage—blackmail material, banking ledgers, anything to break her away from Grant.

I found a locked steel box hidden in the floorboards beneath her bed. I smashed it open.

Inside were hundreds of photographs.

They weren't photos of Silas or the Kingsley empire.

They were intimate, romantic photos of Grant and Vanessa, dated ten years ago. Marriage certificates. Vacations in Europe.

They had been legally married this entire time. Grant’s marriage to me was entirely fraudulent.

But it was the last photograph at the bottom of the box that made my heart stop.

It was a picture of Vanessa holding a newborn baby boy. A boy with Grant’s eyes.

A ringing phone cut through the silence of the apartment.

It wasn't my phone. It was the landline on Vanessa’s nightstand.

I slowly picked up the receiver.

“Vanessa?” a deep voice asked. “Did Grant secure the girl?”

I stopped breathing. I knew that voice. It was a voice I had mourned for ten years.

“Julian?” I whispered.

My dead brother chuckled softly over the line. “Hello, little sister.”

---

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