(Aaliyah)
The following night came sooner than I was prepared for, and before I knew it, Jaime—no, Nicholas Foster—and I were stepping out of the sleek, black car he had rented and onto the massive, concrete compound of my parents’ Aspen mansion. The crisp December air nipped at our skin as he handed the key to our family’s butler of thirty years, Alfred.
The old man had missed me, if the way his eyes lit up was any indication, but in true butler fashion, he was as stoic as ever as he said the words, “Welcome home, Ms. Morgenthau. It’s good to have you back.”
I winced slightly at the name.
Morgenthau.
I can’t remember the last time I’d used that name.
I’d resorted to using my mother’s surname since it was more common and less suspecting.
“It’s good to be back, Alfie… I missed you to
