Amber paced her apartment, staring at Rawls' text invitation. Should she go? Simpson wanted her to spy on him. Doug was watching her. And now Karla had found her photo in Rawls' desk.
Her doorbell rang, making her jump. She peered through the peephole, shocked to see Claire standing there.
"Claire?" Amber opened the door cautiously.
Claire looked tired, her blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail. "Can I come in?"
Amber stepped aside, heart racing. "Of course."
Claire wandered into the living room, glancing around as if she'd never seen it before. She spotted Amber's journal on the coffee table and froze.
"Is that it?" she asked quietly.
Amber snatched it up. "Yes."
"Simpson really broke in and took it?"
"Yes." Amber clutched the journal tightly. "Claire, I'm so sorry about everything."
Claire sank onto the couch. "You've been acting weird for weeks. Missing our movie nights. Always distracted when we talk." She looked up, hurt in her eyes. "I thought maybe you had a boyfriend you weren't telling me about."
Amber sat beside her. "I've just been busy with work. The library's short-staffed and—"
"Don't lie," Claire cut her off. "Not anymore."
Silence stretched between them.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Claire finally asked. "About your feelings for Dad."
Amber stared at her hands. "How could I? He's your father. I was sixteen when it started. It was just a silly crush."
"And now?"
"Now..." Amber hesitated. "Now I'm not sure."
Claire stood up suddenly. "Mom says she found a picture of us from my graduation in Dad's desk. But it was folded so only you showed."
Amber's heart skipped. "What?"
"She's convinced something's going on." Claire paced the room. "Doug says he saw you and Dad at the bookstore, looking... close."
"We were picking books for his senior reading group!"
"And Uncle Simpson says you two have secrets."
Amber's stomach dropped. "Simpson is lying. He's trying to cause trouble."
"Why would he do that?"
"I don't know," Amber lied, remembering his demand for information about the family trust.
Claire studied her face. "You're still not telling me everything."
Before Amber could respond, her phone buzzed with a text. She glanced down to see Simpson's name:
Coffee tomorrow, 10 AM, Waterfront Café. Don't forget our deal.
Claire noticed her expression change. "Who's that?"
"Nobody," Amber said too quickly, turning her phone over.
"It's Simpson, isn't it?" Claire grabbed the phone before Amber could stop her. She read the text, her face darkening. "What deal, Amber?"
"It's nothing."
"Stop lying!" Claire threw the phone onto the couch. "Everyone's keeping secrets from me! Mom, Dad, you, Simpson—I'm sick of it!"
"Claire, please—"
"No." Claire grabbed her purse. "Figure out whatever mess you're in with my uncle. Just leave my dad out of it."
The door slammed behind her, leaving Amber alone and miserable.
Hours later, Amber stood on Rawls' doorstep, having decided she needed to come clean about everything. The house was lit up inside, warm against the cool evening.
Rawls opened the door, his face lighting up when he saw her. "You came."
"We need to talk." Amber stepped inside, rubbing her arms nervously.
Rawls led her to his study and closed the door. "I thought you might not come after what happened at the café."
"Simpson is blackmailing me." The words rushed out before she could stop them.
Rawls' expression hardened. "What?"
Amber explained about the journal, Simpson breaking into her apartment, and his demands for information about the family trust.
"I would never spy on you," she finished. "But he has copies of my journal pages."
Rawls' face had grown increasingly troubled. "The Benedict trust..." He ran a hand through his hair. "Simpson's been trying to get access to those documents for months."
"Why?"
"Because of my father's will." Rawls sat heavily in his leather chair. "Dad left the bulk of his estate in a trust that I manage. Simpson gets monthly payments, but he wants more."
"Is money missing like he claimed?"
"No." Rawls' jaw tightened. "That's just his excuse to get his hands on the accounts."
Amber felt relief wash through her. "So you're not in trouble?"
"Not the kind Simpson suggested." Rawls studied her face. "But I want to know more about this journal he took."
Heat crept into Amber's cheeks. "It's private."
"But it involves me somehow." Rawls leaned forward. "Enough that Simpson thinks he can use it against you."
Amber couldn't meet his eyes. "I've kept journals since I was sixteen. They're just... thoughts and feelings."
"About me?" Rawls asked softly.
Before she could answer, the front door opened. Voices drifted from the hallway—Karla and Claire returning early.
"Amber?" Karla's sharp voice called out. "Your car is in our driveway."
Footsteps approached the study. Rawls quickly stood, moving away from Amber just as the door opened.
Karla stood there, elegant in a black dress, her eyes cold. "Well, this is cozy."
"We were discussing books for my reading group," Rawls said smoothly.
"In a closed study? At night?" Karla's eyebrow arched perfectly. She turned to Amber. "Claire's quite upset, you know. Something about her uncle and a secret deal?"
Amber's face burned. "I should go."
"Yes," Karla agreed. "You should."
As Amber gathered her purse, Claire appeared in the doorway behind her mother. The hurt in her eyes made Amber's heart ache.
"Claire—" she began.
"Don't." Claire looked between Amber and her father. "Just don't."
Amber hurried past them, out to her car. As she fumbled with her keys, a shadow moved beside her.
"Trouble in paradise?" Doug stepped into the streetlight, smiling unpleasantly.
"Go away, Doug."
"Claire's upset." He leaned against her car. "She deserves better friends."
"Like you?" Amber snapped.
"I don't lie to her." Doug's smile disappeared. "I saw you with Simpson today. Taking bribes to spy on her father?"
"It's not like that!"
"No?" Doug took out his phone, showing her the photo he'd taken. "Looks suspicious to me. What would the police think? Or Claire's mother?"
"What do you want?" Amber whispered, feeling trapped all over again.
"Stay away from the Benedict family." Doug's voice hardened. "All of them. Or this photo goes to Karla, who seems very interested in protecting her ex-husband."
"They're not even together anymore!"
"Aren't they?" Doug smirked. "Karla moved back into the house yesterday. Didn't Rawls tell you?"
The news hit Amber like a slap. No, Rawls hadn't mentioned it.
"Think about it," Doug said, walking away. "Some secrets are better left buried."
The Waterfront Café bustled with morning customers when Amber arrived the next day. Simpson sat at an outdoor table, sunglasses hiding his eyes, coffee already in hand.
"You look terrible," he commented as she sat down.
"I couldn't sleep." Amber glared at him. "This has to stop, Simpson."
"Did you find anything about the trust?"
"No. And I won't help you steal from your brother."
Simpson's smile vanished. "Careful, Amber. I still have those journal pages."
"I don't care anymore." Amber leaned forward. "Rawls knows about your blackmail. Claire knows too."
Simpson removed his sunglasses slowly. For the first time, Amber saw genuine surprise on his face.
"You told them?"
"Yes."
Simpson studied her, then laughed softly. "Brave move, little librarian. But you've made a mistake."
"How?"
"You think my brother is the good guy in this story." Simpson's voice dropped. "Did he tell you why I really came back to town? Did he mention Olivia?"
Amber frowned. "Who's Olivia?"
"Ask him." Simpson stood up. "Ask him who she was and what happened to her. Then decide if you still want to trust him with your heart."
As Simpson walked away, Amber's phone buzzed with a text from Rawls:
We need to finish our conversation. Meet me at the bookstore at noon. There's more you need to know.
A second text arrived immediately after, from Claire:
Mom and Dad are talking about getting back together. Thought you should know.
Amber stared at the messages, her confusion growing. Who was telling the truth? Then a final text came through, from a number she didn't recognize:
This is Karla Benedict. I found something disturbing in Rawls' desk. Something about you. We need to talk—immediately.