Chapter 3
The cream-colored envelope felt heavy in Tori’s hands, her grandmother’s personal seal still intact after all these years. Mr. Riley had left it with her an hour ago, and she’d been staring at it since, gathering courage to read Elizabeth Kane’s final message to her.
Through the hospital window, dawn painted the city skyline in shades of gold and shadow – much like her grandmother’s legacy, Tori thought. Light and darkness, power and sacrifice, all woven together in an intricate dance of survival.
Finally, with trembling fingers, she broke the seal:
“ My dearest Tori,
If you’re reading this, then the vultures have finally shown their true nature. I’ve watched them circle our family’s empire for decades, waiting for any sign of weakness. I had hoped your generation would be spared this battle, but hope is a luxury we Kane women rarely get to keep.
First, know this – in the vault beneath the old library at Kane Manor, you’ll find everything you need to begin again. Account numbers, access codes, evidence I’ve gathered over the years about every board member, every partner, every potential enemy. The combination is the date you first beat me at chess. You were twelve, and in that moment, I knew you had the steel in your spine that our family’s legacy demands.
There are offshore accounts in your name, untraceable to Kane Industries. Enough money to disappear forever, if that’s what you choose. But I know you, my darling girl. You have my blood, my fire. You won’t run.
Tori paused, wiping tears from her cheeks. Her grandmother’s voice seemed to fill the room, strong and certain as ever. She continued reading:
“ Contact Dr. Kevin Lee at the Golden Dragon. Show him my ring – Tobias should have given it to you by now. Kevin will connect you with people who can help you become someone new. Remember: the best mask is one that contains a grain of truth. Don’t try to become someone entirely different. Instead, become the version of yourself that they fear most.
There’s a safety deposit box at First Metropolitan, box 2317. Inside you’ll find proof of certain board members’ indiscretions – enough leverage to make them think twice about crossing you. Use it wisely. Revenge is a scalpel, not a sledgehammer.
Most importantly, trust no one completely. Even those who seem to be allies may have hidden motives. Keep your true plans close to your heart. Let them think they know your game, while you play a deeper one. ”
The letter continued for several pages, detailing resources, contacts, and contingency plans that made Tori’s head spin. Her grandmother hadn’t just prepared for betrayal – she’d orchestrated an entire underground network of support and resistance.
By noon, Elena had helped her make contact with Kevin Lee. The Golden Dragon turned out to be an unassuming Chinese restaurant in the old district, but the basement held a different world entirely. Kevin – a slight man with sharp eyes and surgeon’s hands – examined her face with professional detachment.
“Bone structure is good,” he murmured, turning her chin this way and that. “We can keep the changes subtle. Enough to fool facial recognition and close inspection, but not so much that you lose your natural advantages.” He smiled slightly. “Beautiful women are often underestimated. We’ll use that.”
The next few hours were a blur of consultations. A voice coach named Sara taught her the basics of modulating her speech patterns – dropping her natural upper-class inflections for something more deliberately cultivated. “Your new identity needs to suggest old money fallen on hard times, then rebuilt through ruthless determination,” Sara explained. “Every word should carry the weight of someone who’s lost everything once and won’t lose it again.”
The physical transformation began with her hair. Her signature honey-blonde locks – which Damian had loved to wind around his fingers – were darkened to a rich chocolate brown with subtle auburn undertones. The stylist, an expert in witness protection makeovers, worked methodically while explaining the psychology behind each change.
“Darker hair will make your skin look paler, more dramatic,” she explained. “Combined with the planned facial adjustments, you’ll project an aura of sophisticated danger rather than approachable warmth. Men like your husband are drawn to what they perceive as darkness – it makes them think they’ve found a kindred spirit.”
The self-defense training was perhaps the most challenging. David, a former special forces operator, showed her how to turn her current weakness into an advantage.
“Your body knows fear now,” he said bluntly. “That’s good. Fear keeps you sharp. We’ll teach you to use it, to let it fuel you rather than freeze you.” He demonstrated a series of moves designed to counter larger, stronger opponents. “Your husband’s type relies on physical dominance. They don’t expect technical skill or strategic thinking in a fight.”
By late afternoon, Tori caught her first glimpse of her emerging new self in the training room mirror. The dark hair changed her whole appearance, making her cheekbones more pronounced, her green eyes more striking. The defensive stance David had taught her altered her usual perfect posture into something more predatory.
“Good,” Elena commented, watching from the doorway. “You’re starting to look dangerous.”
“Not dangerous enough,” Tori replied, thinking of Damian’s superior strength, his calculating mind. “I need to be better. Stronger. More…”
“More like him?” Elena’s voice held a note of warning. “Be careful. Revenge can make you mirror your enemies.”
“No,” Tori shook her head, remembering her grandmother’s words. “Not like him. Like myself – the self I never knew I could be.”
The day’s final appointment was a routine medical examination before clearing her for facial surgery. Mr. Riley insisted on a complete workup, drawing blood and running several tests. “We need to know you’re strong enough for what’s coming,” he explained.
Tori lay on the examination table, staring at the ceiling while machines whirred and beeped around her. Her body ached from the defensive training, her scalp tingled from the chemical treatments, and her throat still bore the fading marks of Damian’s attempt on her life. Yet somehow, she felt more alive than she had in years.
Her grandmother’s letter crinkled in her pocket, a constant reminder of the legacy she carried. The ring, now permanently on her finger, caught the fluorescent light like a promise of power waiting to be claimed.
Mr. Riley returned with the test results, his expression unreadable. He cleared his throat, glancing at Elena before meeting Tori’s eyes.
“Ms. Kane, according to these results, you’re eight weeks pregnant.”
