Chapter 31

Hailey

Out in the hallway, away from Christian’s family, I look down at my phone, which indicates a new voice message. Addison is going to be okay, which fills me with relief. I’m so grateful to hear that.

But I need to attend to the matter at hand, whatever it may be, so I press the phone to my ear, even as it pings again. My heart thunders in my ears as the message begins to play. I don’t recognize the number, but the dread settling in my gut tells me Franklin is back to harass me.

However, the voice that follows isn’t the one I expect. It’s firm, detached. “This is Detective Larsen from the precinct. We’ve arrested Franklin Richards on charges of theft and fraud and wanted to let you know. If you could call us, we’d appreciate it.” He leaves a number where I can reach him.

My hand trembles uncontrollably, the phone slipping in my grip as I collapse onto a hard-plastic chair near the hospital’s main entrance. Arrested? Franklin? How could this be real?

I look back toward the OR waiting area, but there’s no need for me to be here now. I need to focus on my own life for the time being. I race back to my temporary apartment and sit on my bed to return the call from Detective Larsen.

“Thank you for returning my call,” he says once I’ve introduced myself. “During our last interview with Franklin Richards, we learned that after leaving your residence, Mr. Richards cohabitated with another individual.”

A woman—her image flits across my mind, faceless, unknowing.

“We also spoke with her, and she indicated that at one point she’d found a substantial amount of cash among his possessions.”

I gasp. A stack of cash. My stomach churns, nausea rising. “Where did he get that money?”

“Mr. Richards claimed the money came from your grandmother.” There’s a pause. “He indicated he was merely safeguarding it.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “Safeguarding, right.”

“And—” I hear paper shuffling. “—we’ve determined that while you were temporarily living elsewhere—”

Christian’s place , I mentally correct.

“—Mr. Richards entered your apartment and concealed the cash within a secret compartment inside an antique desk. Then recently he broke into your storage unit and found the compartment was empty.”

“So, he was safeguarding it, but he hid it, and then broke in to get it from me?”

“That’s what he’s saying.”

“The desk is my grandma’s old writing desk. He’s been telling me he was missing something for a while now but wouldn’t tell me what it was. I searched through everything in the storage unit but didn’t find anything.”

The officer goes on to tell me that Franklin’s food truck was all a fraud. He took my money and still has it, or he did until it went missing.

This is what he’s been looking for. The money he stole from me. I shake my head. “My grandmother left me a small insurance policy, about seventy thousand dollars, when she died. Franklin had the food truck idea and convinced me we could use it to build our future. He told me he lost everything when the truck failed, but now, you’re telling me he just kept it?”

“That seems to be the case,” Detective Larsen confirms. “Can we meet in the morning at your storage unit and complete a search for the missing money? If you have proof that the money was yours, it will make our case much stronger. When would you be available to meet us?”

“I’ll be there. What time works for you?”

We confirm our plans, and my head is spinning. I can’t believe this. Franklin lied about everything, and I believed him. What does that say about me?

When the rideshare drops me off at the storage place the next morning, Detective Larsen and another officer greet me, and I lead the way to my unit. They help me move boxes, and we free my grandmother’s desk. “It has lots of little compartments and secret places, but I checked them after he told me I had something that was his,” I explain. “I didn’t find anything.”

But now I’ll try again. I stand in front of Grandma’s antique desk and slide the top drawer open slowly. My fingers trace the grooves, hesitating over each familiar bump and ridge. I press, and there’s a soft click, barely audible, but it vibrates through me. The false bottom shifts, lifting slightly. My heart stops. Slowly, I ease the panel out. “Empty,” I whisper. It’s like the room deflates around me, the breath I’d been holding releasing in a shaky exhale.

Detective Larsen shifts behind me, but he says nothing. I should tell him there’s nothing here to find, but something holds me there, rooted to the spot. My fingers move, almost instinctively, over the smooth wood beneath the panel. Nothing. And then—a sliver of white catches the light. My heart lurches in my chest.

There, wedged so deeply that I almost missed it, is an envelope hidden in a corner. My hand shakes as I reach for it, my fingers struggling to grasp it well enough to tug it free. It’s thicker than I expected. Heavier. The paper crackles in my hands, and for a second, I can’t breathe. Slowly, I unfold the envelope, and there it is, a stack of cash, crisp and unmistakable. My stomach drops.

“Looks like you found something.” Larsen’s voice cuts through the silence, but I barely register it. All I can see is betrayal staring back at me, as real as the money Franklin stole.

My fingers tighten around the envelope. This is it. The proof. The final nail in the coffin of whatever trust I had left. A wave of disbelief and fury surges through my veins. I was so blind. How could I have missed this? How could I have trusted him?

“Is this…?” I start, unable to finish.

“Did your grandmother give this money to Franklin?” Detective Larsen asks.

I shake my head. “No. She left it to me.”

“If you can prove that, the money’s yours,” the other officer confirms with a nod. “You can keep it.”

I walk over to the box that holds the life insurance policy and her will and pull out the letter from the insurance company that accompanied the check. “Would you like to see the bank deposit and the name of my banker who worked with Franklin on the food truck deal?” I ask. “Her name is Ping Wu, and she helped us through the whole thing.”

The detective takes her number from me and steps out. My hands tremble. Looking at all my grandmother’s things, I want to live with them again. I want to keep her with me. She took me in when my parents didn’t want me. She championed my dreams. And looking at the desk, I believe she made sure I found the money so I could use it the way it was intended.

Detective Larsen returns and hands me the envelope. “Ms. Wu verified your version of the events. This is your money, and it’s in your storage unit. You may keep it.”

My hands tremble as I clutch the envelope, feeling the weight of my grandmother’s love—and her foresight. School had been a distant thought, a path I walked away from, but now, it beckons me again with newfound urgency. It’s what she wanted for me, and I find it’s what I want for myself.

Later, alone in the quiet of my temporary apartment, I spread out the college catalog on the tiny kitchen table. Pages filled with potential courses and career paths fan out before me, and I settle on the section for real estate studies. I’m still drawn to real estate. This could be my new beginning. I trace the requirements for the program, mentally ticking off each step I’d need to take. I can do this.

The phone rings. “Miss Spencer, this is the front desk. An envelope was just delivered.” His tone suggests curiosity, but he doesn’t pry further.

“Thank you, I’ll be right down,” I reply.

My pulse quickens as I make my way downstairs. What now?

The clerk gives me a nod as I approach, pushing the mysterious envelope across the counter toward me. It’s unassuming, white and perfectly sealed, yet it feels like it weighs a ton in my hands. My name is written on the front in familiar handwriting, and my heart skips a beat. Christian .

I thank him and return upstairs. In the quiet apartment, I slip a finger under the flap, breaking the seal. The contents slide out, and I unfold the letter, the script dancing before my eyes.

Dear Hailey ,

I’ve been staring at this blank page for what feels like hours, trying to find the right words. I realize now that I was wrong to push you away, to accuse you of causing the trouble with Taylor. You did not, of course, and I’m deeply sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. It was a terrible mistake, one I regret more than anything.

I appreciate you coming to check on Addison during her surgery. I know you care deeply for her. The house feels empty without you. I miss you, Hailey. Addison misses you too. Your absence has left a void nothing else can fill.

I was wrong to let my fears and insecurities drive you away, and you deserve so much better than the way I treated you. I can only hope that it’s not too late to make things right.

I understand if you need time, if you’re not ready to forgive me yet. But please know that I am truly sorry, from the bottom of my heart.

I want to make things right. I want to be the man you deserve, the man who cherishes you and stands by your side through everything.

Please, Hailey, if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I promise to do everything I can to make up for the pain I’ve caused.

You are different than any woman I’ve ever known, and I can’t imagine a future without you in it.

With all my love and much regret,

Christian

Emotions rush through me—anger, sorrow, love, and an undeniable flicker of hope. I sit back, the letter cradled in my lap. Christian’s plea hangs in the balance, reaching out across the chasm his own fears carved.