All Chapters of Too late, Ex. NOW WATCH ME RISE: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

David Vance — David Henderson — arrived at the Brooks estate at 11 a.m., alone as the text asked, holding page 48 of Claire's diary, which he had taken from his father's pocket last night, holding his own adoption papers, which said Biological Father: Arthur Vance, Biological Mother: Unknown, Adoptive Parents: Hendersons.He was twenty-six, handsome, dark eyes, disciplined, professionally brilliant, personally catastrophic, wearing a suit that was too tight, just like Arthur's.He stood in the marble hallway where Lillian had knelt three years ago begging Nathaniel not to divorce her, where Patricia held a shotgun twice, where three mothers hugged one daughter, where James opened his toolbox, where Arthur stole adoption papers.And he waited.Lillian arrived at 11:07 a.m., not alone, because she had learned not to come alone to the Brooks estate when someone writes on a wall in red lipstick, but with Nathaniel, who drove, with Grace, who insisted, with James, who brought his toolbox e

Patricia Brooks had escaped prison twice in three days.The first time, she cut off her ankle monitor and took Grace's adoption papers.The second time, she paid the warden $50,000 and thanks for service — Gerald's fee — and walked out holding a white bottle, no label, clear capsules, lot number P. Brooks, with a Post-it that said For Gerald. - P.Now she stood in the Brooks estate hallway, holding William's shotgun in one hand and the white bottle in the other, looking at eight people who should never be in the same room, eating soup and donuts in a storage room that was about freedom, now standing in William's hallway, staring at her like she was a ghost who kept coming back."Hello, Gerald," Patricia said, smiling that terrible smile. "You told them you arranged everything for $50,000 and thanks for service. You forgot to tell them you arranged my escape for $50,000 and thanks for service too. Twice."Gerald stared at the white bottle in her hand, his soup spilled on the cold marbl

There was no ninth letter.Victoria said there was no ninth letter. Gerald said there was no ninth letter. William only wrote eight. The white bottles were the last secret. The rest they have to write themselves. Without $50,000 and thanks for service.But Lillian found a ninth envelope anyway.It was taped under William's desk, where Patricia's shotgun once rested, where James's toolbox once sat, where Grace's adoption papers were stolen, where Eleanor's diary was hidden.Cream envelope, single initial: L. Again. Same as the eighth. Same handwriting. But fresher ink. Not shaky. Neat.Lillian opened it at 2 a.m., alone in William's study, while everyone else slept on cold marble or on couches or in police cars, while Nathaniel slept on Margaret's couch holding soup, while Grace slept in Lillian's old apartment with three plants, while James slept with his empty toolbox, while Vanessa slept in stained scrubs holding a briefcase.Inside was not a letter from William.Inside was a letter

The tenth letter was from Victoria.Not William. Victoria.Lillian opened it at 3:07 a.m., sitting on her apartment floor, surrounded by soil from three plants that survive even if you forget them, even if someone overturns them, hugging Vanessa, with Nathaniel replanting, with Victoria shouting from the street.Inside, in Victoria's neat, ruthless handwriting:Lillian, You have to decide tonight. Not tomorrow. Tonight. Because tomorrow the clause expires and you have to file or not file divorce and keep 50% or not keep 50% and be Mrs. Brooks or just Lillian Harper, nurse. You have to decide what kind of powerful woman you want to be. Not the kind who takes $50,000 and thanks for service. Not the kind who takes 50% and thanks for service. The kind who decides, not because a clause says so, not because a deed says so, not because a mother forced a father, not because a lawyer added a line, but because she wants to. So decide. Tonight. And whatever you decide, I will file it. For free.

Lillian's phone buzzed on her kitchen counter.It was not a text. It was a photo. Then another. Then another. Twelve in a row.Nathaniel's love letters. But Lillian didn't open it, she hurried straight in scrubs to the cab waiting for her.She was headed to Arthur's Vance estate. As they reached the gate in the blistering rain. The driver honked but no response till two burly men walked, the mansion security detail. One of knocks at the window while Lillian's phone kept ringing Arthur Vance but he didn't pick. “This is private property, you need to leave.” One of them said. Fisting angrily at the vehicle.The other pulls out a radio communicating with someone over the phone. Examining the vehicle like a decoy as they circle round. “I'm Lillian Brooks, I'm here to see Arthur Vance.” She yelled her voice cutting throw the noisy droplet and thunderstorm. Lillian steps in the cold rain, like a woman crazy sending them off the Cab.She stood drenched in the rain, insisting they let her