“This was just left at the downstairs concierge for you, Ms. Harrison,” she said. “No return address, no courier stamp. Security cleared it, but it’s highly irregular.”
I took the envelope, a tiny frown creasing my forehead. I slid my silver letter opener under the flap and pulled out a single, heavy piece of cardstock.
There was no greeting. Just a single sentence, typed in sharp, block letters:
Some debts can never be erased, even from behind bars.
I stared at the words for a long moment. Was it Carter, finding a way to reach out from his concrete tomb? Or was it his creditors, realizing the wife now sat on a multi-billion dollar throne?
A slow, dangerous smile crept across my face, pulling at the scar tissue. Three years ago, a note like this would have sent me into a blind panic. Today, it was just another piece of paper. I was Audrey Harrison. I owned the board, I owned the players, and I wasn’t afraid of the cold anymore.
I casually crumpled the heavy cardstock into a ball, tossed it effortlessly into the roaring fireplace, and watched it turn to ash. I was ready for whatever came next.
If you want more stories like this, or if you’d like to share your thoughts about what you would have done in my situation, I’d love to hear from you. Your perspective helps these stories reach more people, so don’t be shy about commenting or sharing.
read more in next page
