Chapter 4 - Shadows Over Wellington Street
Back in Detroit, the summer heat hung over Wellington Street like a wet wool blanket.
Clara lay resting on the worn sofa, her breathing shallow and uneven, while Emma and Lily sat on the porch steps sorting through their latest haul of soda cans.
A sleek, dark grey sedan pulled slowly down the cracked asphalt of the street, its engine whispering almost silently. It stopped directly in front of number 412.
The tinted passenger window rolled down, revealing the sharp, calculating face of Marcus Sterling.
Marcus adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, surveying the peeling paint of the porch, the overgrown weeds, and the two little girls sitting on the steps with their bags of aluminum cans.
“Are you Emma and Lily Wilson?” Marcus called out, his voice smooth and professional, yet entirely devoid of warmth.
Emma stood up instinctively, shielding her younger sister behind her skirt. “Who are you? My mom’s resting.”
Marcus opened the car door and stepped out, walking up the walkway with deliberate, measured steps. He pulled a pristine leather folder from under his arm.
“My name is Marcus Sterling. I’m the Chief Operating Officer of Vance-Andrews Global,” Marcus said, offering a practiced, diplomatic smile that didn't reach his eyes. “I work very closely with Mr. Andrews. In fact, he sent me here to check on things.”
Lily peeked out from behind Emma. “Is Mr. Andrews coming back?”
“Mr. Andrews is a very busy man,” Marcus replied smoothly, crouching down slightly to their eye level. “He has billion-dollar companies to run, global markets to manage, and very little time for childhood nostalgia in neighborhoods like this. In fact, he asked me to deliver a message to your mother.”
The front screen door creaked open. Clara stood in the doorway, swaying slightly, her face pale as death.
“What do you want, Mr. Sterling?” Clara demanded, her voice raspy but sharp.
May you like
Marcus stood up, turning toward her with a cold, triumphant glint in his eye. He didn't deliver a message from Samuel. Instead, he tossed a thick sheaf of legal papers onto the wooden porch railing.
“Mr. Andrews didn't send me to help you, Mrs. Wilson,” Marcus said smoothly. “He sent me to buy you out.”
