Chapter 744

Emma George walked in carrying an insulated food container. She glanced first at Emily Blair’s face, checking her color, then stepped over to the nightstand and eyed the stack of tonics and vitamin supplements piled there.
“These are all top-shelf brands,” she remarked.
Emma had worked as a housekeeper at the Lane family’s old estate for years, so she recognized quality when she saw it. As she mentally tallied up the prices for these brands, she couldn’t help but let out a low whistle.
“Who dropped these off?” she asked.
Emily was distracted by a few more messages from Ms. Sanders, her expression unreadable as she skimmed the screen.
Ms. Sanders: [From what you’re saying, there’s something odd about your accident. Do you want me to keep digging?]
Without looking up, Emily replied offhandedly, “Andrew Lane sent them.”
“Oh my―” Emma blurted, her hand loosening its grip. The box of supplements slipped, falling onto the floor with a thud.
It had been years since she’d heard Andrew Lane’s name, but even now, just the mention of it made her heart skip.
She shot a nervous glance at Emily. “Andrew Lane? We haven’t seen him in… what, years? Why would he show up now? And bringing all this
Emma was unsettled. She remembered all too well how the Lane family—and Andrew in particular-had treated Emily in the past. Now, after all these years, was he trying to cozy up because Emily had built a successful business?
Emily’s attention was still on her phone, fingers moving quickly as she typed a reply to Ms. Sanders: [Keep looking.]
She’d already asked Ms. Sanders to check the truck driver’s and his family’s bank accounts and assets-no unusual deposits, everything looked clean. The driver’s blood alcohol content was indeed above the legal limit, so it matched a textbook DUI.
But days had passed with no further leads. Emily was starting to wonder if maybe she’d been wrong—maybe it really was just a coincidence.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. Even if the crash had been orchestrated, she wasn’t about to let it go.
Once done replying, she looked up at Emma and said, voice calm, “Give these to the neighbors, will you?”
Emma studied Emily’s expression, searching for any trace of reluctance or hurt. Finding none, she nodded. “That’s probably for the best. We really shouldn’t be taking anything from Andrew Lane.”
“Let’s not talk about him.” Emma brusquely gathered up all the supplement boxes and set them on the floor, clearing space for her own container.
Emily refocused on her phone, but soon the rich aroma of chicken broth filled the
room.
Emma poured the soup into a bowl and handed it over. “Here you go, Emily. Fresh chicken soup—I made it just this morning, it’ll do you good.”
Emily had gotten used to this routine; every day since the accident, Emma had shown up with homemade soup.
She accepted the bowl with both hands and sipped slowly. The broth was light, not greasy at all—it was clear that Emma had skimmed off the fat ahead of time. The taste was wonderful, soothing warmth spreading through her body with each mouthful.
After she’d finished half the bowl, Emma passed her a steaming drumstick. “Eat up.
I made a whole chicken, so take your time.”
Emily picked up a fork, stuck it into the drumstick, and ate it bit by bit.
Emma’s gaze wandered to a small candle on the nightstand. She picked it up, inspecting the label. “Emily, what’s this?”
Emily pressed her lips together, then answered, “It’s a calming candle. Made with medicinal herbs-Tristan Davis brought it over.”
“No wonder I noticed that herbal scent the moment I walked in,” Emma said, frowning.
“Mmm,” Emily responded.
Emma’s brows knitted together. “Is something wrong? Why do you need this? Are you not feeling well?”
Emily didn’t offer details. “Just haven’t been sleeping well, so I thought I’d give it a try.”