Amara's POV
The gunshot was so loud it made my ears ring.
But it wasn't aimed at us. The man with the gun shot into the air, and soon everyone was yelling and running in different directions.
"GO! GO! GO!" Dad screamed, starting the car even though the brakes were broken.
The car lurched forward, and we crashed through the garage door. Behind us, I could hear more gunshots, but we kept going.
"Hold on!" Dad yelled as we sped down our street.
The car was going too fast, and Dad couldn't slow down because the brakes didn't work. We ran two red lights and almost hit another car.
"We have to get to the police station," Mom said, her voice shaking.
"I'm trying!" Dad said, fighting to control the driving wheel.
That's when I saw them in the rearview mirror. Two black cars were following us, getting closer and closer.
"Dad, they're behind us!" I screamed.
"I see them," he said, his mouth tight.
He turned the corner so fast that our car went up on two wheels. I thought we were going to flip over, but somehow we stayed standing.
"There!" Mom pointed ahead. "The police station!"
But just as we got close to safety, something terrible happened.
The turning wheel stopped working.
"I can't turn!" Dad shouted. "They cut the steering cable too!"
We were heading straight for a big tree at the end of the street. Dad tried everything, but the car wouldn't change direction.
"I love you both so much," Mom said, reaching back to grab my hand.
"I love you too," I said, tears running down my face.
Then everything went black.
I woke up three days later in the hospital.
The first thing I saw was Jayden's face. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. His eyes were red from crying, and his hair was messy.
"Thank God you're awake," he whispered, taking my hand.
"Where are my parents?" I asked, though part of me already knew.
Jayden's face crumpled, and he started crying harder.
"I'm so sorry, Amara," he said. "They didn't make it."
The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. I couldn't move. I couldn't think. The only people who had ever truly loved me were gone forever.
"No," I whispered. "No, no, no. This isn't real."
"I'm here," Jayden said, squeezing my hand. "I'll always be here for you."
But something felt wrong. His words sounded right, but his eyes looked... guilty? Scared?
"Where's Sheila?" I asked.
"She's coming," he said quickly. "She wanted to bring you flowers."
Over the next few days, people kept visiting me in the hospital. Teachers from school. Friends. Family people I barely knew. They all said the same things.
"I'm so sorry for your loss."
"Your parents were wonderful people."
"Everything will be okay."
But nothing felt okay. Every time I closed my eyes, I remembered that night. I remembered Sheila with the bottle. I remembered the men with guns. I remembered my parents' last words.
The cops came to ask me questions.
"Do you remember anything about the accident?" Officer Martinez asked softly.
I wanted to tell him everything. About Sheila's plan. About Chairman Crain. About the men who chased us.
But every time I started to speak, Jayden would squeeze my hand in a way that felt like a warning.
"I... I don't remember much," I lied. "Everything happened so fast."
"The car's brakes and steering were damaged," the cop said. "But the crash destroyed most of the proof. It could have been old parts breaking down, or..."
"Or what?" I asked.
"Or someone might have wanted to hurt your family," he said softly.
After he left, I grabbed Jayden's arm.
"Why didn't you let me tell him the truth?" I asked.
"Because it's too dangerous," Jayden said, looking around like someone might be listening. "Those men are still out there. If you talk, they'll come after you again."
"But my parents are dead because of what Sheila did!"
"I know," Jayden said, and I could see real pain in his eyes. "But getting yourself killed won't bring them back."
When Sheila finally came to visit, she was crying so hard I almost believed she was really sad.
"Oh, Amara!" she sobbed, throwing her arms around me. "I'm so sorry! This is all so terrible!"
But when she hugged me, I felt something cold and hard in her jacket pocket. Something that felt like a knife.
"I brought you your favorite flowers," she said, putting a vase of white roses next to my bed.
"Thank you," I said, but my voice sounded strange.
"I know this is hard," Sheila said, sitting on the edge of my bed. "But you're not alone. Jayden and I will take care of you. We're your family now."
The way she said "family" made my skin crawl.
That night, after everyone left, I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about that night in the garage. About Sheila's smile when the man pointed the gun at us.
Something wasn't right about her story. If she really cared about me, why hadn't she tried to stop those men? Why had she looked so happy when we were in danger?
I got up and walked to the window. Outside, I could see the parking lot where guests left their cars.
That's when I saw something that made my blood turn cold.
Sheila and Jayden were standing by Sheila's car, talking. Even from far away, I could tell they were fighting about something.
Then Sheila gave Jayden an envelope full of money.
A lot of money.
And Jayden took it.
I watched him count the bills, then put them in his pocket. They shook hands like they had just made some kind of deal.
Then they both looked up at my hospital window.
Even though it was dark in my room, somehow I knew they could see me watching them.
Sheila smiled and waved.
But it wasn't a nice wave. It was the kind of wave you give to someone when you know a secret they don't know.
I stepped back from the window, my heart racing.
What kind of deal had they made? Why was Sheila paying Jayden money right after my parents died?
And why did they both look so happy when they were meant to be sad?
I climbed back into bed and pretended to be asleep when the nurse came to check on me.
But my mind was racing. If Sheila and Jayden were working together, that meant everything they told me was a lie.
It meant they weren't trying to protect me.
It meant they were the ones I needed protection from.
The next morning, a man in an expensive suit came to my room.
"Miss Kingston," he said, "I'm Mr. Warren, your parents' lawyer. I need to talk to you about some important business issues."
"What kind of matters?" I asked.
"Your parents' company," he said. "According to their will, you're supposed to inherit everything when you turn eighteen."
"But I already turned eighteen," I said. "It was my birthday party the night they..."
"Yes, I know," Mr. Warren said sadly. "But there's been a problem."
My stomach dropped. "What kind of problem?"
"The board of directors is claiming that your parents had massive debts before they died," he said. "They say the company needs to be sold to pay those debts."
"That's impossible," I said. "My parents were rich. They never had money problems."
"I know it doesn't make sense," Mr. Warren said. "But they have paperwork that shows your parents owed millions of dollars to various creditors."
"Show me the papers," I ordered.
He gave me a thick stack of documents. As I read through them, my hands started shaking.
The papers showed that my parents had drawn huge amounts of money from banks, investors, and private lenders. According to these papers, they owed so much money that the company was worth nothing.
But I knew these papers were fake. They had to be.
"Who's buying the company?" I asked.
Mr. Warren looked awkward. "A consortium led by Chairman Crain and... the Banks family."
The Banks family. Sheila's family.
"When does this sale happen?" I asked, though I already knew the answer would be terrible.
"Tomorrow," Mr. Warren said. "I'm sorry, Miss Kingston. By the time you get out of the hospital, you'll have nothing left."
After he left, I sat in my bed looking at the fake papers.
Everything was gone. My dad. My place. My company. My money.
And the two people I trusted most in the world were the ones who had taken it all away from me.
I was about to start crying when something caught my eye.
There was a small piece of paper stuck between the fake loan paperwork. It looked like it had been hidden there on purpose.
I pulled it out and unfolded it.
It was a note in my father's handwriting: "Amara - If you're reading this, it means they succeeded in killing us. The real will is hidden in the place where we used to read bedtime stories. Trust no one. Love, Dad."
My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold the paper.
My father had known this was going to happen. He had hidden a message for me.
But what scared me the most was what he had written at the very bottom of the note: "P.S. - The person you think is your best friend is not who you think they are. Check her birth papers. The truth will destroy everything you believe."