Chapter 13 - The Ghost at the Gate
""You really took everything, didn't you?""
Elena turned around calmly. Leaning against the doorframe of the stripped parlor was Marcus.
He had aged ten years in six months. His designer suits were gone, replaced by a threadbare jacket and worn work boots. A plea deal had kept him out of maximum security, but probation and absolute bankruptcy had left him working as a deckhand on the very harbor his family once owned.
""You took what was never yours, Marcus,"" Elena said, standing upright. ""I only reclaimed what was mine.""
Marcus laughed, a dry, broken sound. ""My mother is living in a government-subsidized nursing home. She barely remembers who I am. Every time a nurse drops a tray, she screams your name.""
""Then she finally understands the impact of dropped things,"" Elena responded without a trace of sympathy.
Marcus took a step forward, his hands trembling in his jacket pockets. ""I loved you, Elena. Before the money, before the business deals. I loved you.""
Elena looked at him, feeling neither satisfaction nor hatred. She felt nothing at all.
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""You loved a servant you could control, Marcus. You never could have loved an equal.""
Marcus pulled his right hand from his coat. In his palm was not a weapon, but a waterlogged, dirt-stained photograph from five years ago—two smiling college graduates standing on a simple wooden bridge.
