Chapter 2 - Ghosts in the High-Rise
The private elevator zipped up fifty floors in total silence, the city of Boise shrinking beneath us through the panoramic glass wall. I squeezed myself into the corner, feeling impossibly small inside the grand, quiet lift.
Mr. Graves stood near the control panel, holding his wallet in one hand, but his attention was entirely focused on the pink paper he had carefully drawn from my backpack with my permission.
As we stepped into his private penthouse office—a massive room filled with floor-to-ceiling windows, dark mahogany furniture, and original paintings—he led me to a plush leather sofa.
"Sit down, Ruby," he said gently, pouring a glass of fresh apple juice from a glass carafe on his sideboard and handing it to me along with a plate of silver-wrapped chocolates. "Drink this. You look exhausted."
My stomach let out an embarrassing, loud rumble. I hadn't eaten since a small bowl of plain oatmeal at five that morning. I flushed red, but Mr. Graves didn't laugh. Instead, his heart seemed to break a little more.
"Eat as much as you like, sweetheart," he said softly.
While I unwrapped a chocolate with trembling fingers, Mr. Graves sat across from me, laying the pink eviction notice on the glass coffee table between us. He put on a pair of silver reading glasses and studied the document line by line.
"Aldridge Street Properties LLC..." he read aloud, his jaw clenching tightly. "Managed by Julian Vance."
My eyes went wide. "You know Mr. Vance?"
"Julian Vance is my late wife's brother," Mr. Graves said, his voice dropping into a dark, bitter register. "My brother-in-law."
"He's the one who gave my mom the notice," I explained, swallowed the rich chocolate. "He comes to our apartment every month. He screams at my mom until she cries. He says we're living on his charity, and that if we don't pay the rent increase, he'll throw everything we own out onto the street."
Mr. Graves closed his eyes, his knuckles turning stark white as he gripped the armrests of his chair.
"Twelve years ago," Mr. Graves began, looking out the grand window at the city skyline, "my only daughter, Evelyn, vanished."
I stopped chewing, listening intently.
"Evelyn was my whole world," he continued, his voice trembling with deep-seated sorrow. "She was bright, kind, and fiercely independent. But she fell in love with a young artist—a man my brother-in-law, Julian, claimed was a fraud and a fortune hunter. Julian convinced me that Evelyn was throwing her life away. I was foolish, Ruby. Proud, arrogant, and blinded by my wealth. I argued with Evelyn. I told her that if she walked out that door with him, she would be cut off from the Graves estate forever."
He took off his glasses, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief.
"She walked out," he whispered. "Six months later, Julian came to me with terrible news. He showed me medical records and a police report stating that Evelyn had died in a tragic house fire in Oregon. He said there were no survivors. For twelve years, I believed my daughter was dead. I poured all my grief into this company, leaving Julian in charge of my family's private residential trust."
I looked at him, my brow furrowing in confusion. "But... what does that have to do with my mom?"
Mr. Graves picked up the pink eviction notice, pointing to the property reference code printed in tiny font near the bottom.
"This trust—the Aldridge Street Properties—was created by my daughter, Evelyn, before she left," he explained, his gray eyes locking onto mine with blinding intensity. "And the legal name of the young artist she loved... was David Vance. Julian's estranged younger brother."
The room felt completely still.
"Your mother, Clara Vance..." Mr. Graves whispered, leaning forward, his chest heaving. "Her maiden name wasn't Vance. She changed it after the fire to protect herself. Ruby... your mother isn't just Clara. She is Evelyn Graves. My daughter."
The silver chocolate wrapper slipped from my small hands, falling silently onto the thick carpet.
May you like
"My... my mom is your daughter?" I gasped, my mind racing to process the words. "That means... you're my..."
"I'm your grandfather, Ruby," Nathaniel Graves sobbed, dropping to his knees once more before the sofa, taking both of my tiny hands in his large, warm palms. "I am your grandfather. And Julian lied to me for twelve years to steal everything that belonged to your mother."
