Ninety-Nine Letters, A Thousand Lies

Burri

rayal. I didn't waste another second. My phone was in my hand. Dialing the number I'd found last night. It con

e the tremor in my hands. "Aubrey Burris here. I need to a

? Just last week, you seemed... hesitant." The lawyer,

lingering fragments of my old life. "There's no turning back now. T

What grounds are you proceeding on?" she

identity fraud," I listed calmly. The words felt like

e. "Identity fraud, Ms. Burris

enounced his US citizenship. I need you to verify that. And initiate a

ew note of urgency in her voice. "That complicates ma

name back. And justice for what he's done." The lie about not caring abou

. And the international contract you mentioned? The

e week. I need the divorce papers filed before I go. And I need this en

" Ms. Thorne mused. "But we'll do our best. I'll se

you to investigate Kennedy Patel's background

We'll be in touch." Ms. Thorn

ulless objects. Each piece a reminder of her. A sleek, minimalist sculpture stood where my grandmother' s antique rocking chair us

n Corporation. A confirmation letter for my new position. Architec

y of my favorite architectural history book. A small, framed photo of Jonna and me laughing on

lly constructed trap. He had flattered me. Wooed me. Made me believe I was t

y skin. I unwrapped the small velvet pouch I kept in my jewelry box. Inside lay a delicate silver locket. My grandmother's. It was the only piece of jewelry that tr

final, silent declaratio

und of their laughter drifted up. I froze. My hand hovering over a half-p

king her hair. Her head rested against his chest. She was wearing my silk robe. The pale

he used to use for me. The same tone of reverence. He brushed a stray st

n that very kitchen. Months ago. Cooper had been making breakfast. His arms wrapped around me from

r me," he' d whispered into my hair. "My future. My everythin

n from humble beginnings. He had seemed so vulnerable beneath his ambition. So in need of my quiet strength. My understanding. He ha

void was always

f sleepless nights. Passion pouring onto the blueprints. Then Kennedy' s presentation. Her design. Identical. My world had imploded.

said. "Fight for what's yours." He' d consoled me. Promised to help me expose her. But he never did. He just.

ectural integrity" at a industry gala, knowing full well the plagiarism scandal. Or when she'd "accidentally" spilled red wine

ad somehow "disappeared" from the competition archives, permanently erasing proof of Kennedy

ship, Aubrey," he' d said once, with a strange glint in his eye. "Y

ven saw me. I was just a plac

gh my thoughts. "Are you feeling unwell?" She stood next to Cooper, her hand resting d

now, met mine. "Aubrey. What are you doing

hen again. And again. A rapid-fire succession of notif

tared back at me from a blurred image. A barrage of hateful comments scrolled beneath it. And then, a link. To

had d