The CEO's Midnight Remedy novel Chapter 26

**Dust Writes New Stories by Rei Holt Wilder**
**Chapter 26**

The abrupt, piercing ring of my phone shattered the tranquility of my dreams, dragging me into the harsh light of day. Sunbeams poured through the windows of my Brooklyn apartment, illuminating the cluttered surfaces and casting long shadows across the room. My hand instinctively searched for the phone on the nightstand, fingers brushing against the cool surface until I finally grasped it. I squinted at the unfamiliar number flashing on the screen, a sense of unease creeping into my stomach.

“Hello?” I managed to croak, my voice still thick with the remnants of sleep.

“Ms. Harper.” The voice on the other end was deep and deliberately modulated, as though the speaker was trying to mask his identity. “I have something you might find intriguing.”

My heart raced as I sat up, adrenaline kicking in. “Who is this?” I demanded, my curiosity piqued despite the lingering fog of sleep.

“Someone who knows the truth about your mother.” There was a deliberate pause, a moment that felt heavy with unspoken implications. “And about your stepmother.”

A chill swept through me, sending a shiver down my spine. “What are you talking about?” My voice trembled slightly, betraying my growing anxiety.

“Not over the phone,” the voice replied coolly. “Meet me at Antlers Coffee in Brooklyn in one hour. Come alone.”

Before I could muster a response, the line went dead, leaving me in a suffocating silence. Almost immediately, a text message pinged through from the same number—a photograph, stark and revealing. It depicted a younger version of my father, his arm wrapped around a younger Victoria, both of them grinning widely. The intimacy of the moment felt unsettling, far too close for mere colleagues.

The text beneath the image read: “Bring $50,000 cash. You’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

Staring at the photograph, my hands shook uncontrollably. The timestamp indicated it had been taken three years before my mother’s untimely death—when Victoria was merely her personal assistant, not the public relations director she’d always claimed to be. The implications of it all twisted in my gut like a knife.

Antlers Coffee was a popular haunt, nestled in a rapidly gentrifying area of Brooklyn, known for its quirky taxidermy decor and expertly brewed pour-overs. I arrived a good fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, choosing a table by the window where I could keep an eye on the entrance. I hadn’t brought the cash, of course—my instincts warned me against it. But the need to uncover the truth gnawed at me relentlessly.

At the stroke of the hour, a man in his forties entered the café, sporting a baseball cap and dark sunglasses that obscured his eyes. He scanned the room, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made my heart race. Without waiting for an invitation, he slid into the chair across from me.

The man’s eyes hardened behind his sunglasses. “Victoria Ross destroyed my life,” he said, his voice low but filled with a quiet fury. “And I believe she played a role in your mother’s demise as well. She must face the consequences of her actions.”

“Who are you?” I pressed again, desperation creeping into my tone.

“An ally,” he replied, his voice steady. “Someone who seeks justice just as fervently as you do.” He slid a business card across the table, its surface starkly blank except for a single phone number. “When you’re ready to uncover the full truth, reach out to me. And next time, bring the money.”

He stood to leave, but I instinctively grabbed his sleeve. “Wait—you can’t just drop a bombshell like this and walk away. If you know something about my mother’s death, you owe it to me to tell me more.”

He looked down at me, his expression inscrutable behind his disguise. “I will,” he assured me. “But information like this doesn’t come without a cost. Victoria Ross has powerful allies, Ms. Harper. Protecting yourself—and me—requires resources.”

With that, he turned and walked out of the café, leaving me clutching the business card in my trembling hand. My coffee sat untouched, growing cold as my mind spiraled into a whirlwind of terrifying new possibilities surrounding my mother’s death.