You Looked Down on Me Once, Now You Look Up. novel Chapter 320

Riverdale was a city of sharp contrasts.

In the bustling downtown, people called it the country’s financial heart—a place where fortunes were made and lost in the blink of an eye. But just beyond those skyscrapers, the city changed. The Outlands, as everyone called them, were filled with old apartment blocks and half-finished buildings, mostly bought up by families pushed out of the city’s latest development projects. Life was harder out here. People were tough because they had to be.

That morning, Jackson drove Patricia two hours out to the edge of the city.

They wound through quiet roads until they reached a sleepy little village by the river, the kind of place where time seemed to slow down. That’s where Patricia finally found the woman she was searching for.

Wilma, once the chief accountant for the Martin Group.

She was crouched on the stone path by the river, washing freshly picked greens in the chilly water. The vegetables still glistened with dew, bright and crisp from the garden.

Patricia walked over in her flat leather boots, rolling up her coat sleeves. Without a word, she knelt across from Wilma and started helping her rinse the veggies.

A couple of locals passed by, nodding hello.

Wilma greeted each one with a polite smile.

“Didn’t know you could handle kitchen work,” Wilma said, her voice even and calm.

Patricia didn’t look up. “I can’t. But you make it look easy, so I figured I could learn.”

She grinned. “I pick things up fast, and I always finish what I start.”

Wilma caught the meaning behind her words and shot her a surprised look. “Yeah, I can see that.”

There were secrets between her and Emerson—everyone knew it, even if no one said it out loud. Wilma had evidence, but she’d never dared use it. Not with Emerson’s threats hanging over her. Finance was always a family business, and Wilma had once been part of Emerson’s inner circle. Why he’d cut her loose was a story she’d never fully told.

Patricia snapped the stem off a piece of lettuce, glancing at Wilma. “What’s above ground might look weak, but the roots underneath—those are what really matter.”

She met Wilma’s eyes, her voice steady. “Wilma, trust me.”

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