Eve Of A Thousand Wakes

002 The Detective

Ashley bit her lip until she tasted copper. Jake had drained her bank account, stripped her of everything she owned, reduced her to little more than a servant in her own husband's mansion.

And now—now—he was going to marry her stepsister? Was nothing sacred to this man?

Over the past year, Jake had come undone. Scarlet had spent that same year pouring wild parties, drugs, and liquor into him like poison into a well, until something inside him simply rotted through. He could make Ashley disappear, just like that, and not a soul would blink.

Ashley exhaled, long and shaking. She wanted out. She wanted to sign these papers—not for him, never for him, but for herself. She was done bleeding for a marriage built on lies. Done. Finished. Enough.

"Jake." Her voice shook, but she didn't look away. "I loved you. I gave you everything I had. And you're a liar, a crook—conspiring with my own stepsister, and now you're going to marry her? How do you even look at yourself?"

"You have only yourself to blame, Ash," Jake scoffed, swirling his drink like her pain bored him. "The business world is a dangerous game. Gullible, weak women like you are doomed to perish! You should learn a few things from your stepsister."

Jake's eyes glittered, dark and bottomless—evil wearing the mask of charm. Scarlet might have warped him, twisted him, but that changed nothing.

Jake Grayson was a monster in a man's skin, and Scarlet had only opened the cage. He'd taken everything from her—ruthlessly, methodically—and left her with nothing but the wreckage.

No more.

Ashley crossed to the table, picked up the pen, and signed her name without a single tremor. "You think you've won, Jake Grayson?" Her voice didn't waver. "You're mistaken. I've already spoken to my attorney about your illegal takeover of Palmer Industries. I've reported you for fraud. And I will take my company back."

Jake's jaw clenched so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. Something had snapped in his once-submissive wife—she'd slipped his leash, and they both knew it. For one unguarded second, fear flickered behind his eyes.

"You wouldn't dare…" Jake snarled—and they both heard it for what it was: not a warning, but a threat.

"Goodbye, Jake. I'll see you in court."

Ashley turned on her heel and walked out, leaving her seething ex-husband behind a door she didn't bother to close gently. Outside, her heels struck the pavement in a rhythm that finally, finally felt like freedom.

"It's over," she breathed, then louder, like she needed the city to hear it: "It's finally over! I've taken control of my life!"

A thousand thoughts crowded in at once. What now? She had no money, no plan, and—she caught her reflection in a shop window—she looked like she'd crawled out of a ditch. Her phone pinged.

It was a message from her attorney, Elijah Wood—a young, hotshot lawyer who took only high-profile cases.

The court had ruled: Ashley was reinstated as Chairperson of Palmer Industries, effective immediately, pending the fraud investigation. The way Jake and Scarlet had stolen her shares was mala fide—plain and simple—and no jury in the world would side with them.

"Yes!" Ashley laughed, half delirious with it. "Everything's finally going right! All I had to do was stand up to him and fight back!" She looked up at the sky. "I hope you're watching, Mom. Dad. I hope you're proud."

Then her phone beeped again. Harry Doyle—the private investigator she'd hired. Ashley had never believed the official story: that her father's car had simply gone off a cliff. No wreckage. No body. Just silence, for an entire year.

She'd spent nearly every dollar she had left to hire him, to dig up the truth no one else wanted to find. His new message stopped her cold.

[Harry Doyle: Your father didn't die in an accident. He was murdered—and I know who did it. Come to the usual spot.]

***

Ashley abandoned the Grayson family car and caught an Uber to Macintosh Square, where Harry Doyle was waiting. The square was deceptively serene—parks, fountains, greenery—the kind of place built for secrets.

On the way, Ashley texted her sister-in-law, Tessa—the only person she truly trusted. Despite Jake's abuse, Tessa had always been an angel, quietly standing by her.

When her brother wasn't around, Tessa was kind to her, sneaking her better food and supplies and letting her use proper washroom facilities and toiletries.

[Ashley: I served Jake with divorce papers!]

[Tessa: Woohoo! I'm so glad you're finally rid of my horrible brother! I'll throw a party at a friend's place!]

[Ashley: Lol, nothing over the top, please!]

[Tessa: I promise… *lying face emoji*]

Ashley wondered, sometimes, what would have happened without Tessa. She suspected she already knew the answer. At eighteen, Tessa carried herself with a maturity that put most adults to shame—always listening, always present, never once flinching from the ugliest parts of Ashley's story. She was the one loyal soul left in Ashley's life.

The Uber stopped beside Crown Fountain, a popular spot for lovers' rendezvous. Couples of every age lingered about, making it the perfect place for anyone trying to stay inconspicuous.

Harry Doyle was an elegant, clean-cut man in his early thirties. Dressed in a sharp trench coat, he leaned against the bonnet of his old Toyota Prius, smoking a cigarette. He stubbed it out as he saw Ashley approaching.

"How are ya, doll?" he asked gruffly. "You look more chipper than usual. Any good news?"

Ashley smiled, lighter than she'd felt in months. "I got rid of an immense burden today."

Doyle was always flirtatious, peppering Ashley with questions about her life that annoyed her. Still, he was reliable, discreet, and came highly recommended.

"I see you still haven't gotten rid of that Prius, Harry," she jibed. "Don't you work cases with the FBI and Homeland Security? You clearly make enough to live luxuriously."

"This old vehicle helps me blend in, doll," he replied, tapping the trunk with his ringed finger. He was divorced but never took off his wedding ring.

"And the decent mileage doesn't hurt."

"If you say so," Ashley teased, leaning on the trunk beside him with a sigh.

"So this immense burden you speak of—is it your marriage? Are you finally divorced?"

Ashley shot him a disapproving look. "Yes. But that doesn't mean you can hit on me."

"Jeez!" Doyle exclaimed, throwing up his arms. "Was just being nice, doll… That isn't a crime, last time I checked…"

"Alright." Ashley's expression hardened, all traces of teasing gone. "Spill the beans. Are you sure my father was murdered? Because if you're messing with me, Harry, I swear to God I'll strangle you with my bare hands." She held his gaze, unblinking. "Now tell me. Who did it?"