Chapter 2

Just as Farrow reached for the car door, Uncle Zac grabbed his arm. The old man's knuckles were white from the force of his grip.

"That's your sister, Farrow!"

"How can you talk about her like that?"

Zac lowered his voice. "The intel on last month's shipment, Grace got that from the Mexicans, risking her life. She was chasing down leads day and night, just to help you secure your position."

"She's been busting her ass every day, trying to be the kind of sister a Don needs."

Farrow shook him off, adjusting the cuffs of his expensive suit, his eyes filled with scorn.

"Don't be naive, Zac. She'd say anything to get back on your good side."

"You're getting old. Your emotions are clouding your judgment."

He turned to one of his men, his voice hard. "Any of our people reported missing in the last few days?"

"No, Don. No missing person reports in the territory for the last two days."

Farrow's brow furrowed.

"This girl's been dead for days and no one's looking for her? People put up flyers for a lost dog. They treated her worse than a stray."

As dinnertime arrived, Zac waited and waited, his expression growing more unsettled. "Something's not right. Grace hasn't checked in for days."

Farrow scoffed, his face a mask of contempt. "She's finally showing her true colors. It's in her nature. She can't follow through on anything."

Zac's temper flared at his indifferent attitude. "Impossible! For years, through blizzards and firefights, Grace has shown up every day with the latest information, just to win your approval!"

"There has to be something wrong. You need to contact her immediately!"

Farrow speared a piece of steak. "Forget that jinx. I've seen all her little tricks."

"She called me a couple of days ago, pulling God knows what kind of stunt. I told her to be at Betty's launch, and she blew me off. She's openly challenging my authority!"

Zac was about to argue, but the ringing of a phone cut him off.

It was the special ringtone he had set for Betty.

The ice on Farrow's face melted in an instant.

He answered the phone, his voice a low, magnetic hum, laced with affection.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

The pet names and privileges that once belonged to me were now all Betty's.

"Don't cry, tell me what happened..."

"I know. I'll be careful."

I don't know what Betty was crying about on the other end, but Farrow's tone suddenly turned cold.

"Don't worry, I'll handle the plagiarism issue. As for this original author, I'll have the Family's lawyers and the media make her disappear from the face of the earth! If she won't admit she's lying, I'll make sure she can never speak again!"

"There, there, don't be sad. It's not safe on the streets right now. You have to check in with me before you go anywhere."

My spirit form trembled.

That original author was me.

It was the story I had spent countless sleepless nights writing, stolen by Betty, who simply changed the name and passed it off as her masterpiece.

I had tried to tell him, but Farrow didn't believe me.

Or rather, he didn't care.

And you did it, Farrow. You backed the "original author" into a corner with your threats. Now she's lying in a body bag at your feet.

Betty's sickeningly sweet voice suddenly chirped on the other end of the line. "Thank you, brother... oh, and you have to come to the launch party on Sunday night. I have a big surprise for you."

An intense chill washed over me, and my senses went on high alert.

No! Don't go! Farrow, it's a trap for you!

I desperately tried to shake him awake.

I screamed until my non-existent throat was raw.

But I had forgotten. I was just a wisp of a soul in the air. How could he possibly see me?

"Of course, my little love. I'll wrap this up as fast as I can. Then I'll come home to you, baby."

He hung up, then noticed Zac's grim expression.

He waved a dismissive hand. "Enough, Consigliere. I'm going to take a look at the body myself, see if I can spot anything. Stop looking for trouble."

Zac didn't move, his gaze serious. "Wait. I just called Grace. No answer. You try. She never ignores your calls."

Farrow tugged at his tie in frustration. "Are you ever going to drop it?"

"I don't have time for this. Family business is waiting. I don't have time to deal with her."

Zac's persuasion failed. He could only let out a defeated sigh.

The air in the morgue was cold and thick with the stench of formaldehyde. The medical examiner nervously pulled open one of the large refrigerated drawers.

The thick, black body bag was laid out on the autopsy table, its zipper closed tight.

Farrow faced the tightly wrapped corpse once again.

Even through his mask, the mixed smell of chemicals and rotting flesh was pungent.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm, put on a pair of gloves, and reached for the zipper pull.

The zipper opened slowly. I floated behind him, hoping he might notice something.

The bag was halfway open.

The charred body, corroded by acid beyond recognition, was exposed under the bright lights.

It was a hideous sight.

If there had been any other way, I never would have let my brother see me like this.

Farrow frowned, ready to wave his hand and have this pile of "trash" disposed of.

Suddenly, he froze.

Farrow's eyes were glued to the corpse's clenched left hand. His pupils contracted violently, and for a moment, he stopped breathing altogether.

My soul tensed, stretched to its breaking point.

Brother, are you going to recognize me?