Darian Wolfe
The storm outside matched the chaos in my mind. I stood in the mess of my father's past—old ledgers, faded photos, and brittle letters scattered across my desk like casualties. The smell of musty paper mixed with the sandalwood scent on my skin, a weak cover against the shocking truth gripping me. I clasped the desk tightly, my usual calm shattered by shock and anger.
For hours, I searched through the Wolfe family archives. I wanted ammunition against Hector Reyes but instead found a minefield of my own history.
The photograph in my hand felt like it might burn me. A younger Hector Reyes, about twenty, stood next to a woman I recognized—Eleanor Wolfe, my mother, but her eyes sparkled with warmth I hardly remembered.
They stood on the steps of a house smiling intimately. Th
