The air in the Intensive Care Unit didn't just smell like antiseptic; it smelled like the end of something. It was a cold, sharp scent that clung to the back of Ava Rose's throat, reminding her with every breath that she was hovering in a place between life and death.
Ava sat on a plastic chair that had long ago lost its cushion. Her back ached—a dull, throbbing reminder that she had spent the last three nights sleeping upright, or rather, not sleeping at all. She watched the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of her grandmother's chest, governed entirely by the bellows of a machine.
"She's stable, Ava," a nurse named Sarah whispered, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You should go down to the cafeteria. Get some tea. You're starting to look like a ghost yourself."
Ava forced a small, tight smile. "I'm fine, Sarah. I just… I want to be here when she opens her eyes."
"The doctor said the sedation will take time to wear off. Go. Ten minutes."
Ava nodded, though she knew she wouldn't eat. She stood, her legs heavy as lead, and walked to the large glass window separating the waiting area from the sterile sanctuary of the ICU beds. She pressed her forehead against the cool pane.
Nan—Grandma Nan—was all she had left. After her father passed away when she was eighteen, her mother had checked out emotionally, eventually moving to another state with a man Ava barely knew. It had been Nan who taught her that silence wasn't emptiness, but a language of its own. Nan, who stayed up late sewing Ava's school dresses. Nan, who guarded the family land like it was sacred.
I won't let you down, Ava promised silently.
Her phone vibrated.
The sound cut through the quiet like a gunshot.
She pulled it from her jacket, expecting a call from the pharmacy. Instead, she saw her uncle's name.
Silas.
Her stomach dropped.
Silas:
The papers are signed. The wire transfer cleared ten minutes ago. Sterling Holdings owns Silver Creek now. I told you I'd handle the debts, Ava. Don't go back to the house. The locks are being changed by sunset. I left your suitcase in a bus station locker. Fresh start.
The words blurred.
"No," Ava whispered. "No… no…"
She called him. Voicemail. Again. Disconnected.
He had sold it.
He had sold her grandmother's home while Nan lay unconscious, fighting for every breath.
Silver Creek wasn't just a piece of land—it was their home. The old house where Ava had grown up, her father's workshop tucked behind it, and Nan's gardens stretching toward the creek itself. Every inch of it carried memory and meaning. Legally, the estate could not be sold without the Jade Seal, a family heirloom passed down through generations.
Silas didn't have it.
Ava's pulse thundered. She had hidden the seal beneath the floorboards in her room the night Nan had the stroke—because she had known. Silas always took what wasn't his.
Money. Food. Her peace.
She swallowed hard as old memories surfaced—hands grabbing too tight, being shoved into walls, his voice loud and slurred with rage.
Don't cry.
Crying makes it worse.
She had learned early to stand still. To be quiet. To disappear.
Pain had become something she carried silently, like a secret she was never allowed to tell.
"Ava?" Sarah approached again. "Is something wrong?"
Ava shoved the phone into her pocket.
"I have to go," she said.
"You can't just leave—"
"I'll be back," Ava said, already moving.
The elevator ride down felt endless. When the doors opened, heat slammed into her like a wall. She didn't have a car—Silas had taken it weeks ago—so she started toward the bus stop.
But the bus wouldn't be fast enough.
Her banking app loaded.
$42.17
"Taxi!" she shouted.
A cab screeched to a halt.
"Where to?"
"Sterling Holdings," Ava said, her voice sharper now. Harder. "Downtown. Please."
Ss the city blurred past, Ava stared at her hands. They were shaking.
She had never been a fighter. She was the quiet one. The one who absorbed blows so Nan didn't have to. Silence had kept the peace for years.
Silence had cost her everything.
Not today.
Sterling Holdings' skyscraper rose like a blade against the sky—steel and glass, cold and untouchable.
She stepped out of the cab with less than ten dollars left.
In the reflection of the revolving doors, she looked small. Exhausted. Broken.
But something burned beneath the fear.
She walked inside.
"I'm here to see Grant Sterling," Ava said at the reception desk.
"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist asked without looking up.
"No."
"Then I'm afraid—"
"Tell him," Ava said quietly, meeting her eyes, "this is about the Silver Creek forgery."
The typing stopped.
"I'm sorry," the receptionist said, her voice smooth with practiced, professional boredom. "Mr. Sterling does not meet anyone without a prior appointment. If you have a dispute regarding a property sale, you'll need to speak with his executive assistant, Mr. Thorne."
"Then let me speak to Mr. Thorne," Ava said, her voice low but firm.
The receptionist studied her for a moment, then gestured toward the seating area. "Have a seat."
The bench was all sharp angles and designer discomfort. Ava waited.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
By thirty, her legs ached and her nerves felt stretched thin.
Finally, a man in a tailored navy suit approached. He carried a slim tablet and wore an expression that hovered somewhere between indifference and faint pity.
"Can I ask who you are?" he said coolly.
Ava stood. "My name is Ava Rose. Silver Creek—that land belongs to my grandmother. I was told it was sold. That sale is illegal."
The man didn't blink.
"Miss Rose," he said, tapping his tablet once, "I'm Marcus Thorne, Executive Assistant to Director Sterling."
He didn't offer his hand.
"I've reviewed the file for the Silver Creek acquisition," Thorne continued. "The paperwork is complete and legally binding. Your uncle, Mr. Silas Ross, provided power of attorney documents authorizing the sale."
Ava's chest tightened. "That's impossible. My grandmother is the sole owner. She's unconscious in the ICU."
Thorne's expression didn't change. "According to the documents, Mr. Ross was acting on her behalf."
"There was no Jade Seal," Ava said sharply. "Without it, the sale is invalid."
For the first time, Thorne paused.
Only for a second—but Ava saw it.
"The registry accepted the documents," he said smoothly. "Sterling Holdings conducted due diligence. If you believe fraud occurred, you're welcome to pursue legal action."
"That land is my home," Ava said. "You knew exactly what you were taking."
Thorne gave a polite, empty smile. "We acquire properties, Miss Rose. We don't involve ourselves in family disputes."
He turned slightly, signaling the conversation was over.
"Mr. Sterling will not be meeting with you," he added. "If there's nothing further—"
"There is," Ava said quietly.
Thorne stopped.
"My grandmother didn't sign anything," Ava continued, her voice steady despite the pounding in her chest. "And I can prove it. This isn't a dispute! It's a theft!" Ava's voice rose, drawing the eyes of several passing businessmen.
"If you continue to cause a scene, I will have to call security," Thorne said smoothly, though his eyes remained cold.
He turned on his heel and walked away, the click of his expensive shoes on the marble sounding like the ticking of a countdown clock.