Chapter 3 - The Resurrection
For three weeks, we played a dangerous, beautiful game of deception.
To the rest of the Cade family, Elias was fading fast. I kept the curtains drawn. I poured the poisoned tea down the drain. I told Marcus and Dorothy Cade that his vitals were dropping, that he was sleeping twenty hours a day, that the end was near.
But behind the locked door, Elias was resurrecting.
With the heavy metals flushing from his system, the muscle returned to his frame. The tremors stopped. His mind, previously clouded by the toxic build-up, became razor-sharp. We spent the midnight hours plotting. He mapped out the family hierarchy on the back of my medical charts, and I became his eyes and ears in the hallways, eavesdropping on Marcus and Elias’s uncle, Vincent, who were already dividing up the Chicago shipping ports.
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Elias didn't just regain his strength; he regained his lethal edge. And every night, when the planning was done, he would reach out in the dark and pull my hand into his.
"When this is over, Celeste," Elias promised, his thumb tracing the pulse at my wrist, "you will never have to worry about a debt, an eviction, or being alone ever again."
