Capitol Hill always smelled faintly like coffee and ambition—too clean, too polished, too suspicious. The kind of place where people wore smiles like masks and made promises sharp enough to cut you.
Michael fit right in.
“Emily,” he said, placing a guiding hand on my back as we stepped out of the elevator, “I’m glad you agreed to meet. I know things have felt… tense. Let’s fix that.”
His tone was soft. Brotherly. Almost affectionate.
Which made it that much worse.
I kept my arms folded tightly across my chest as I followed him down the hallway of a sleek office suite overlooking Broadway Avenue. The air inside was cold enough to sting, and every light was painfully bright—as if meant to wash out shadows. Or hide them.
“What is this place?” I asked.
“A satellite office for Dad’s company.” Michael smiled over his shoulder. “Thought we could talk somewhere quiet. Away from the chaos at home.”
Home.
He said it like he owned it.
Like I was only borrowing air inside it.
We reached a glass-walled conference room. Michael held the door for me, a gesture that would’ve been gentlemanly if not for the simmering threat underneath.
Inside, a stack of neatly arranged documents waited on the table.
The hairs on my arms rose.
“What are those?” I asked.
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Just paperwork to help settle everything. Since Dad passed, there’s been confusion over assets, responsibilities. You’re overwhelmed. I get it.” He motioned me closer. “Let me take some of that off your shoulders.”
My pulse throbbed painfully. “Michael, what am I signing?”
“Something simple.” His voice dropped into velvet. “A document acknowledging that you don’t want to be part of the family business. That all financial decisions go through me. For your own protection.”
So that was it.
Not an apology.
Not clarity.
Control.
He wanted me to sign myself out of my own life.
I stepped back. “Absolutely not.”
For a moment, something sharp—feral—flashed across his face. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual polished calm.
“Emily… you’re grieving.” He moved around the table slowly, like approaching an injured animal. “You’re vulnerable. You don’t understand how complicated Dad’s affairs were. You could get hurt if you stay involved.”
“Funny,” I said tightly, “because I’m already getting hurt.”
His jaw flexed, but the mask stayed on. “Sign it.”
“I’m not signing anything.”
Michael exhaled, long and disappointed. “I thought you’d be reasonable. But if you insist on making this difficult—”
“Em?”
The voice hit me like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
Rachel stood in the doorway, camera bag slung over one shoulder, curly hair pinned up haphazardly, cheeks flushed as if she’d run all the way here.
“Rachel?” I whispered. “What are you doing—”
“I was nearby for a shoot,” she said, eyes darting between us. “I saw you come in. Something felt… off.”
Michael froze. His annoyance flickered—barely there, but unmistakable.
Rachel stepped to my side in a blink. “Emily, you okay?”
“Actually,” I said, meeting Rachel’s gaze, “I’m ready to go.”
Rachel grabbed my wrist. “Great. Because this place is giving me serial killer vibes.”
Michael blocked the door in one smooth movement.
“You’re not leaving,” he said softly.
Rachel stared at him. “Dude, move.”
“This is a private family matter.”
“And I’m her family,” Rachel shot back.
I didn’t breathe.
Michael didn’t blink.
Then, with a slow inhale, he stepped aside.
“Fine,” he said. “Go home, Emily. But this conversation isn’t over.”
Every word was a promise of something dark.
We left without looking back.
The house was too quiet when I got home—quiet in the way haunted places are quiet, heavy and waiting. I climbed the stairs, Rachel trailing behind me until she had to leave for an evening shoot.
“Text me if he even looks at you wrong,” she’d said.
“I will,” I promised.
I lied.
Because when I opened my bedroom door, every thought emptied from my head.
My room was destroyed.
Drawers yanked out. Clothes torn from hangers. My mattress flipped against the wall. The letter from my father—the one he wrote before he died—was gone from where I’d hidden it.
I stood frozen, nails digging into my palms.
Behind me, slow footsteps approached.
Michael leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed casually.
“You shouldn’t have run today,” he murmured. “You made me clean up your mess.”
My voice scraped out of me. “You went through my things?”
He shrugged, almost bored. “You weren’t cooperating. And you know how I get when people waste my time.”
My heartbeat roared in my ears. “Where’s my father’s letter?”
He smirked. “Somewhere safe.”
“Give it back.”
“No.”
I took a step toward him. “Michael—”
He cut me off with a whisper cold enough to extinguish fire.
“If you’re not going to behave, Emily…”
His eyes slid over the wreckage of my room.
“…then I’ll make sure you don’t have anywhere left to stay.”
The floor tilted beneath me.
Michael smiled.
“Welcome to Capitol Hill, little sister,” he said softly. “It’s time you learned what losing really feels like.”