Chapter 7: Main Path — Silas Finch Arrives

The hot water steamed in Evelyn’s cup, filling the kitchen with a faint herbal scent. She stood there, regal in her perceived victory, watching me with a smug, expectant expression. Gabe remained by the door, a picture of defeat.

Then, the back door creaked open again, much wider this time. A gust of icy wind swept into the kitchen, carrying flakes of snow and the distinct smell of wet wool.

Evelyn jumped, spilling a drop of water on her hand. She whirled around, her triumphant smile freezing in place.

Silas Finch stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed against the swirling snow. Two burly men, their faces grim, stood on either side of him, effectively blocking any exit. Their coats were heavy with melted snow, and their boots left wet prints on Maeve’s clean floor.

Finch didn’t speak. He simply stepped inside, his eyes, like chipped ice, sweeping over Evelyn, then Gabe, then settling on me. His gaze was devoid of warmth, devoid of mercy.

Evelyn’s breath hitched. The color drained from her face, leaving it ashen. Her hand, still holding the teacup, began to tremble violently.

Gabe, seeing Finch and his enforcers, let out a small whimper and pressed himself against the wall, trying to make himself invisible.

Finch’s men moved quickly, silently, closing the kitchen door and positioning themselves. One went to the pantry door, standing guard. My heart gave a painful lurch. He was too close to Lily.

Finch walked to the center of the kitchen table, his heavy boots thudding softly on the linoleum. He reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a thick stack of papers. The forged deed was on top, followed by the leather-bound ledger, and then a bundle of yellowed letters tied with a red ribbon.

He laid them all on the table, directly in front of Evelyn. The documents seemed to glow ominously under the kitchen lights.

Evelyn’s eyes darted from Finch’s impassive face to the papers, then to my own unwavering stare. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Her hand, still gripping the teacup, shook so hard the water sloshed over the rim.

“Evelyn Holloway,” Finch’s voice rumbled, quiet but cutting through the suddenly heavy silence. “We have a problem.”

He pulled out a chair, scraping it loudly against the floor, and sat down at the head of the table. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the wood, his gaze never leaving Evelyn’s face. His men stood like statues, silent, intimidating.

“A rather significant problem,” Finch continued, his eyes narrowed. “Four hundred thousand dollars’ worth of problem, to be exact.”

Evelyn’s chest rose and fell rapidly. Her eyes, wide with terror, finally flickered to me, a desperate plea for help in them. I gave her nothing back.

Finch picked up the forged deed, holding it up for her to see. “You presented this as collateral for your loan. The Holloway homestead. Property of Maeve Holloway.” He then gestured to the ledger. “Signed ‘Evelyn Holloway’ as borrower.”

“But,” Finch said, his voice dropping, “it appears you neglected to mention one small detail.” He slammed the deed back onto the table. “This land was never yours to pledge.”

The air in the kitchen crackled with unspoken threats. Evelyn’s teacup clattered onto the table, the hot water splashing across the Formica. Her face was now completely white, devoid of all color, save for the dark, dilated pupils of her eyes. She was trapped.