Valley of Fire (Valley of the Moon Book 2)

by Bronwyn Archer

  “I bet I’m faster,” I said.

  I raced off down the path. My leg muscles burned, but it felt good after all those days in the car, cooped up in hotels. Even in Vera’s too-snug flats. I tugged her skirt above my knees so I could run properly. We jogged past mothers pushing strollers, people on roller blades, and police on horseback. When we finally stopped at a pond filled with toy boats, I was gasping for air. He wasn’t even winded. Then I looked around and got hit with an intense wave of déjà vu. Had I been to this part of Central Park before?

  It looked so familiar.

  Then I remembered the dreams. The old lady on the park bench by a pond. Piercing the balloon with a long pin. The golden key in her palm.

  “I know this place,” I said, between breaths.

  “Maybe your mom took you here as a kid. Georgette and Claudette lived just a few blocks up Fifth.” He looked at his watch. “It’s 9:05. Race you!”

  We raced up a hill out of the park and then we were running down Fifth Avenue, dodging startled pedestrians. Finally, just south of the park, he stopped in front of a tall, imposing glass-and-stone building.

  My toes throbbed. I tugged my skirt back down and adjusted my blazer.

  “Shall we?”

  He pushed the swinging glass doors open. In the enormous lobby, the air conditioning was turned up to North Pole. I waited, shivering, while Alexander picked up two name tags at the security desk. He beckoned me over to a bank of gold elevators.

  He grinned and bounced from foot to foot as we waited. Inside, he smashed his fist on the button for the 48th floor. He handed me a name tag sticker that said GUEST and I smoothed it down onto my jacket.

  I caught a look at myself in the mirrored door, combed my wild hair with my fingers, and tugged my skirt lower again. Sweat dripped down my scalp and underneath my tank top. I smelled like sea salt and diesel fuel.

  “I do not look like an heiress.” He, meanwhile, looked absolutely ravishing—his face was glowing and the hair at his neck was wet and dark with sweat.

  The elevator swooshed skyward.

  He stepped towards me. “True. You look more like a teenage goddess.” My stomach convulsed and goosebumps broke out on both my arms. Friends. You’re just friends now.

  He cleared his throat. “Hey, there’s one more thing you need to know. I probably should have told you this earlier—”

  The elevator stopped and a crowd of chattering people pushed in. One was holding a huge bunch of blue and silver balloons with the words “Happy Graduation” printed on each of them. The elevator stopped a few floors up and the crowd piled out. The second the doors shut, I turned to him.

  “Oh no. What?”

  “Well, you know how there are probably going to be other Ambroses in this meeting besides me and you?” A strange smile played on his lips.

  “Yes?” He’d told me other people might want to contest Georgette’s will, so that wasn’t a total surprise.

  “Well, the thing is,” he continued, “they have no idea we’re coming. That you’re coming. Because my family doesn’t know I found you.”

  My jaw dropped. I reeled backwards and shook my head in disbelief. “WHAT!”

  “Severine didn’t want anyone to know. We’re going to surprise them together.”

  Blood rushed to my cheeks. I was a SURPRISE? This was a SURPRISE PARTY?

  “HOW could you not tell your family I was coming?! They’re going to hate me now!”

  “Trust me,” he pleaded. “It was the only way.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell them.”

  “It wasn’t my call.”

  “I think I might throw up.” I grabbed the brass handrail to steady myself. The floor lurched under my feet and my stomach flopped.

  “Says the girl who survived a stabbing, a car chase, and a near drowning. You’re going to be fine.” The elevator slowed and stopped. “We’re here.”

  I stepped into the hushed, carpeted hallway in a daze. Had he set me up? Or was this really the only way to do it? Why had Severine not wanted his own family to know?

  So many questions. And no time for answers.

  A set of dark double doors faced us. Inside, a huge, crescent-shaped reception desk sat in front of a large polished mahogany wall. BANNISTER & BAINES ATTORNEYS AT LAW was etched in gold on the wall. Alexander walked up to the receptionist, an older woman with short cropped gray hair.

  “Good morning! I’m Alexander Ambrose. We’re a bit late, sorry. Took forever to park the yacht.” The woman raised a single eyebrow. “We’re here for the probate meeting regarding the Ambrose estate, if that helps.”

  She flicked her eyes to me. Her face betrayed no emotion.

  “Mr. Ambrose, yes. Monica will show you to the conference room.” She signaled for a younger woman standing to the side. “Monica, east conference room please.”

  Monica, a prim brunette with glossy straight hair to her shoulders took one look at Alexander and blinked.

  “Right this way, Sir,” she said.

  Monica led us through a long hallway lined with offices. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a window as we walked. My hair was sticking up in the back and my face shined with perspiration. I smoothed my hair down again and blotted my cheeks with the backs of my hands. Then I remembered I was about to be richer than everyone in the office combined. I threw my shoulders back. Time to stop caring what people think of you. You’re Georgette’s heir! Act like it for once.

  But I couldn’t stop trembling. Alexander seemed to sense my nerves and quietly slid his arm through mine. Grateful, I held on and willed myself not to faint.

  Monica rushed us down a long, carpeted hallway and through two sets of heavy wooden doors. Finally she led us in to a small antechamber and spoke to the young, well-dressed man parked at a desk. The small room was lined floor-to-ceiling with leather-bound law books. I could hear voices on the other side of yet another set of double doors.

  The young man picked up a phone and spoke in hushed tones.

  “They’ve just started,” Monica explained. “Gregory is just letting Mr. Bannister know you’ve arrived.” Monica threw Alexander the same look I’d seen many women give him on the road.

  Like a hungry lioness eyeing a wounded gazelle.

  “So, you’re Miss Ambrose’s . . . grandson?” she asked him.

  “No, she was my great-great-aunt. I’m just here on behalf of her sole heir.”

  Monica’s eyes widened. “Oh? Who’s that?”

  “A girl named Lana Goodwin. She’s the one Georgette left everything to.”

  Monica looked confused. Alexander looked over at me grinning. She slowly swiveled her head to look at me.

  “You’re Lana Goodwin?”

  I nodded awkwardly. She examined my face and laughed. “If you don’t mind me saying so, you look nothing like your mother.”

  Bewildered, I asked, “How do you know what my mother looked like?”

  Monica narrowed her eyes. “I showed her to this conference room fifteen minutes before you got here.”

  “What are you talking about!” I snapped.

  Monica’s eyes darted from mine to his. “Well, your mother told us you weren’t coming, so she flew in as your representative. Is there a problem?”

  Gregory hung up the phone and nodded to Monica.

  “No, no problem,” Alexander said quickly.

  “Then please go right in,” Monica said crisply, before turning and walking out.

  Alexander muttered a curse under his breath. I tried to step back, away from the conference room door, but my legs had grown roots into the carpet.

  “I can’t do this.”

  He put his hands on my shoulders and whispered in my ear. “Listen to me. Ramona doesn’t know you’re here! She thinks you didn’t make it. Let’s go give her the surprise of her life. You are the only one who matters today. Remember who you are!”

  Gregory buzzed us in.

  “Showtime, Lana.”

  I
took a deep breath and pushed the heavy door open.

  Part Two

  I cannot tell how Eternity seems.

  It sweeps around me like a sea.

  —Emily Dickinson

  Chapter 17

  Lacus Odii ~ Lake of Hatred

  Breathtaking views of Manhattan glittered through the glass walls of the spacious conference room. Six heads swiveled to stare at us. I jumped when I heard a high-pitched shriek. A woman with glossy waves of honey-colored hair and bee-stung lips that looked too full to be real clapped a hand over her mouth.

  I knew right away who she was.

  “Roy, look who’s here!” Gretchen Ambrose pushed herself away from the conference table where she had been sitting next to a nice-looking bald man with twinkly eyes. She sauntered over to us and planted a huge kiss on his cheek. She wore a sheer white blouse with a black bra showing through it and sleek leather pants. “Dad said you were on vacation, but no one knew where! What are you DOING here?” She looked him up and down. “And what the hell are you wearing?”

  “Our bags got lost, had to borrow some clothes from a friend.”

  I felt another set of eyes on me. If Ramona was surprised to see me alive, she didn’t show it. She had a bruise above her eye and a small Band-Aid over it. She leaned over to chat with the young, slim man in a sleek black suit sitting next to her. She nodded at something he said and he scribbled a note and passed it to her. She whispered something in his ear. He crumpled the paper and slid it into his pocket.

  A cool, papery hand clasped my arm. I looked down at a petite, elegant older woman with bright brown eyes.

  “Lana? I am Severine!” Her French accent was thick and lilting. She wore her long gray hair in an elaborate bun. “At last we meet!” She embraced me and left soft kisses on each of my cheeks. “La colombe?” she whispered in my ear. “The dove. You have it?”

  “Oui.”

  She squeezed my hand and patted it. “Très bien!”

  Behind me, Alexander cleared his throat. “Gretchen, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Gretchen finally took a good look at me.

  “Hi,” I said, and gave her an awkward wave.

  “Who are you?”

  Alexander replied, “Gretchen, meet Lana Goodwin, of the Glen Ellen Goodwins. Georgette’s heir.”

  Gretchen’s mouth dropped.

  The dapper old man sitting at the head of the gleaming mahogany table cleared his throat.

  “Glad you could join us, Miss Goodwin. Won’t you all sit down?” He looked like he was at least eighty, with a face like a wizened hawk, a bald head, and white tufts of hair sprouting behind his ears. He wore a bright red bow tie and matching suspenders. There was a tall stack of manila folders balanced on the table in front of him.

  Severine and Gretchen returned to their seats. Alexander pulled a deep leather chair out for me and I gratefully eased myself into it.

  I felt six sets of eyes on me like hot lasers beams.

  The old man addressed me directly, staring down at me through the reading glasses at the tip of his nose. “My name is Bernard Bannister, and I am the trustee and executor of Georgette Ambrose’s estate. I was her attorney for many years. You are Miss Lana Rose Goodwin? Daughter of the late Tanith Ambrose Fremont?” Ice-cold prickles raced across my skin as I nodded solemnly. “Well, you’ve certainly convinced Severine you are,” he said. “We will of course need to prove you are who you claim to be.” He peered at me intensely and started chuckling. “I may get in trouble if I hand four hundred million dollars to an imposter, wouldn’t you agree?”

  All the air left the room. He shuffled the papers in front of him and weaved his fingers together. The faint noise of sirens and horns from the street filtered up to the room. Sunlight blazed through the windows, turning the glossy table into a mirror. I gripped the seat of my chair with both hands and sat up as straight as I could.

  Bannister continued. “Because, my dear, if you are indeed Miss Lana Goodwin, daughter of Tanith Fremont, you are the sole heir to her deferred fortune—and to Georgette’s estate.”

  The silence in the room felt like screaming. My eyes never left Bannister’s face, but my cheeks burned. You. He’s talking about you. This is real.

  Bannister cleared his throat laboriously. “Also present today is Lana’s adoptive mother, Mrs. Ramona Crawford, and her attorney, Mr. James Borquist.” With some effort, I raised my eyes to look back at her.

  “Former stepmother, actually,” I said loudly.

  Ramona ignored me. “Lana darling, I’m so happy you made it. We weren’t sure if you would, so Mr. Bannister said it was fine for me to attend on your behalf.”

  Ramona’s lawyer regarded me like I was a bug he planned to squash. His dark blonde hair was slicked back with so much gel it looked like dried spaghetti glued to his temples.

  Mr. Bannister continued. “Also present is Gretchen Ambrose, great-great-niece of the deceased, and her fiancé Mr. Roy Faraday. Also present is the great-great-nephew of the deceased Alexander Ambrose, and Madame Severine Tremblay, Georgette’s former caretaker.”

  Alexander turned to look at Gretchen. “Where’s Soren?”

  Gretchen rolled her eyes. “Think he cares about this stuff?”

  “What about Mom and Dad?”

  “They’re in Italy.” Gretchen’s deep blue eyes flicked to mine. “So you’re our cousin or something?”

  “Uh, distant cousin,” I said.

  “Welcome to the family!” Roy cried. Gretchen shot him a stern look.

  “How old are you, Lana?” she asked.

  “Eighteen.” Gretchen’s eyes widened. “I just graduated from high school.”

  She exchanged a look with Roy, then glanced over at Alexander. “How’d you get involved in this?”

  Alexander’s eyes flitted to Ramona. Ramona’s jaw clenched imperceptibly. “Severine called me. She wanted my help, and I said yes.”

  Gretchen’s bright blue gaze seemed to penetrate my skin, burning through my muscle until it hit bone. I grinned and shrugged, which threw her off. She shook her head and addressed her brother. “You never say no, do you?” I sensed Alexander tense next to me. “Lana, how did he find you? We all thought Tanith disappeared years ago.”

  Severine spoke up in lilting English. Her lined face beamed with joy.

  “Alexander hired a private investigator! Lucky for us, even though Tanith changed her name, she did not change her birthday. It was right there on her gravestone!”

  Severine’s letters in the little blue envelopes. Ramona had hidden so many from me. She’d never wanted me to know the truth.

  “Tanith was a lot better at hiding when she was alive,” Roy said. “But why is her last name Fremont and not Ambrose? Someone help me out with this.”

  Severine spoke up. “Tanith’s father, Bart Fremont, was Claudette’s only son, from a brief marriage. Bart was your maternal grandfather, Lana.”

  I nodded. I’d spent hours in front of Bart and Caroline’s grave. Bannister turned to me and peered through his spectacles. “I was friends with your grandfather at Harvard, Miss Goodwin. By all accounts Claudette doted on him as a child. She and Bart spent every Saturday at the boat pond in Central Park, if memory serves.” He looked away from me and addressed the room. “Bart and his wife died tragically when Tanith was a child and as you all know, she was sent to live in the Fifth Avenue apartment with her grandmother Claudette and her great-aunt Georgette.”

  Roy let out a low whistle. “What a story.”

  I knew all the details. A grape truck had hit Bart’s car on the winding road from Sonoma to Napa, killing them instantly and orphaning my mother.

  Bannister peered at me again. “Tanith was a beautiful child, Miss Goodwin. You take after her. She was the light of Claudette’s life, you know. Claudette never understood why she ran off.”

  “The baby.” Ramona turned to Mr. Bannister. “After her baby died, she wanted a fresh start.”

  Gretchen�
�s eyes widened. “That’s so sad! How do you know that?”

  Ramona caught my eyes. I held my breath as she spoke. “We were college friends.”

  Gretchen stared at her blinking. Finally Roy spoke up. “Is that how you came to be Lana’s stepmother?”

  Ramona opened her mouth to speak, but I beat her to it. “Ramona married my father a few years after my mom died. The marriage didn’t last.” I met her glare with a triumphant smile.

  The mood in the room turned awkward, but Ramona just shrugged.

  “Life is full of coincidences, isn’t it?” she purred. “My first husband was building a house in the hills outside Sonoma. He loved the area. Much more than I do. I ran into Tanith—Annie—purely by chance in town one day. She made me swear not to reveal her secret. She seemed very happy in her new life. After her tragic death, John and I became close.” She shot me a piercing look. “How is your father, dear?” Her strange smile widened and her eyes shifted to Alexander. “I hear he is recovering nicely at your apartment.”

  Under the table, Alexander took my hand and squeezed. His face betrayed no emotion. But if she knew where he was, he was in danger. It was an implied threat—if I told anyone she was involved in sending Russian gangsters to kill me, my dad would get the Arkady treatment.

  And if anything happened to me, she’d claim my net worth.

  Which was about to increase slightly.

  “He’s fine. Much better.”

  Gretchen looked from me to Ramona and then back to me. “Wait, she married your dad? But . . . never told you your mom’s real name?”

  Hearing a stranger instantly pinpoint the core lie of my childhood was humiliating. White hot anger arced through my body.

  Ramona bristled. “Miss Ambrose, it’s much too complicated to discuss in detail here. Tanith and I had been friends for many years. She begged me not to tell a soul—including her daughter and husband. She never wanted them to know anything about her past. Should I have betrayed that trust?” She smiled coldly and drummed her long red nails on the table. Bannister cleared his throat loudly.