Sign the Papers Mr. Langford novel Chapter 179

"Phoebe Price will be with her, and so will her lawyer. Harrison and the foundation might back her up too. Lawrence won't necessarily be able to keep her contained now."

Quentin's face darkened with every word.

Willow pressed on, "The harder you try to block her, the more convinced she'll be that it's hidden here."

Lydia frowned. "Then what do you suggest we do?"

Willow didn't answer immediately.

She walked over to the far side of the living room.

An old piano used to sit in that exact spot.

The very first time she came to this house as a child, she had seen Wren sitting there, practicing. The black and white keys gleamed, Wren's fingers flew across them effortlessly, and Vivian stood right beside her, gently turning the sheet music.

The piano had eventually been thrown out.

Lydia claimed it took up too much space.

Now, a display cabinet stood in its place, filled with photos and the various trophies Willow had accumulated over the years.

She stared at her reflection in the glass.

Docile, beautiful, and utterly respectable.

Suddenly, she asked, "Who is using Vivian's old study right now?"

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Lydia's face drained of color.

Quentin said nothing.

Willow turned around, a bitter smile touching her lips.

"It's my dressing room, isn't it?"

No one answered her.

They didn't need to.

Willow had always known.

She just deliberately chose never to think about it.

Years ago, Lydia had ordered the study gutted, claiming it was morbid to keep a dead woman's belongings around. Eventually, that room became Willow's walk-in closet. It housed her gowns, her designer bags, her jewelry, and every dress she had ever worn to a high-society gala.

She used to love that room.

Because it was the first time she had genuinely claimed a piece of the second floor for herself.

It wasn't a guest room, nor was it a temporary space for an intruder.

It belonged to her.

But thinking about it now... if Wren walked through those doors tomorrow and saw her dead mother's sanctuary stuffed with Willow's clothes, what kind of reaction would that trigger?

Quentin snapped his head toward her. "Lydia!"

Lydia flinched under his furious roar.

But Willow had already heard enough.

The Whitaker Vault.

She turned on her heel and headed straight for the basement stairs.

"Stop right there," Quentin ordered sharply.

Willow paused, but didn't look back.

"Dad, I just want to know if we actually possess anything that can guarantee our survival."

"That is none of your concern," Quentin growled.

"Are you sure you've handled it?"

Willow whipped around to face him, her eyes rimmed with red.

"Because if you had handled it, Wren wouldn't have heard Vivian's name at the gala tonight. Lawrence wouldn't be digging into it. And Scott Clarke never would have opened his mouth."

Quentin's face flushed with rage.

Willow's voice dropped. "Dad, I refuse to go back to how we used to live."