Chapter 9 - The Ghost of the Past
The address Richard obtained led him to a run-down neighborhood on the outskirts of the city.
It was a stark contrast to the glittering skyscrapers of the financial district.
The houses here were small, with peeling paint and overgrown lawns.
Richard’s armored limousine stood out like a spaceship in the quiet street.
He told his driver to wait in the car.
He wanted to do this alone.
He walked up the creaky wooden steps of a small, green house.
He knocked on the door.
A few moments later, the door opened.
An elderly man stood in the doorway.
He looked frail, his hair completely white, his shoulders stooped with age and grief.
It was Thomas.
The man looked at Richard, and his tired eyes suddenly flared with an old, deep-seated anger.
"You," Thomas spat, his voice raspy. "What are you doing here, Sterling? Haven't you taken enough from my family?"
"Thomas, please," Richard said, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "I need to talk to you. About Sarah. About Emily."
"You have no right to speak my daughter's name!" Thomas shouted, his hands trembling with rage. "You left her! You went off to make your billions and left her to raise your child in poverty! She died because she couldn't afford the treatments! Because she was too proud to beg!"
"I didn't know, Thomas!" Richard cried, tears once again filling his eyes. "I swear to you, I didn't know! My father... he intercepted my letters. He threatened to destroy you if Sarah didn't disappear. He made us both believe the other had moved on!"
Thomas stared at him, his anger momentarily faltering at the raw pain in Richard’s voice.
"What did you say?" Thomas whispered.
"My father set us up," Richard explained, his voice breaking. "I never stopped writing. I never stopped looking for her. I was lied to. Just like Sarah was."
Richard pulled out Sarah’s final letter from his pocket and handed it to the old man.
Thomas took it, his hands shaking.
He read the letter slowly, his eyes widening.
As he realized the truth, the anger drained from his face, replaced by a devastating, twenty-year-old sorrow.
"My poor Sarah..." Thomas wept, covering his face with his hand. "She thought you didn't want her..."
Richard stepped forward and gently placed a hand on the old man's shoulder.
"I loved her, Thomas. I still do. And I want to protect our daughter. But I need your help."
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Thomas looked up, his eyes wet with tears.
"What do you need me to do?"
