Chapter 7 - The Man Who Died Twelve Years Ago
Victor's uncle smiled.
Nobody moved.
Emma stared at him.
“You're supposed to be dead.”
“So was your father.”
Victor's weapon remained raised.
“Put your men down.”
His uncle laughed.
“You're still giving orders.”
“You're trespassing.”
“This is my family's house.”
“You abandoned it.”
“No.”
His uncle's smile disappeared.
“I was removed from it.”
Victor's eyes narrowed.
“By my mother?”
“By your father.”
The room became silent.
Emma stepped closer.
“What happened twelve years ago?”
His uncle looked at her.
“Your mother knows.”
“My mother is dead.”
“No.”
Emma froze.
“She isn't.”
Victor looked at him.
“You're lying.”
“Am I?”
His uncle pointed toward the chair.
“Ask yourself why Eleanor left that chair untouched after she discovered the surveillance system.”
Victor didn't answer.
“Because she knew someone would come looking.”
“For what?”
His uncle smiled.
“The ledger.”
Emma frowned.
“What ledger?”
Victor's uncle looked at her.
“Your mother never told you?”
Emma shook her head.
He laughed.
“Of course she didn't.”
Victor's voice became dangerous.
“Where is it?”
His uncle stepped backward.
“You're standing on it.”
Emma looked down.
The marble floor.
Victor moved the rug.
Nothing.
Then Emma noticed a carved pattern in the floor.
The same floral design as the chair.
She knelt.
There was a hidden seam.
Victor pulled up a marble panel.
Inside was a metal box.
His uncle's expression changed.
Victor opened it.
A black ledger lay inside.
Names.
Payments.
Dates.
Bank accounts.
Bribes.
Every page linked powerful people to Blackwood operations.
Emma turned a page.
Her mother's name appeared.
Beside it was a payment.
But the amount wasn't money.
It was a code.
ASSET: E.L.
Emma stared.
“What's E.L.?”
Victor looked at her.
“Emma Lawson.”
Her blood ran cold.
His uncle smiled.
“Now you understand.”
Victor grabbed him by the collar.
“What did you do to her?”
“Nothing.”
“Why was she watched?”
“Because she was born with something your mother needed.”
Emma stepped forward.
“What?”
His uncle looked at her.
“Your mother's memory.”
Emma frowned.
“My mother had Alzheimer's?”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“She memorized everything.”
The names.
The accounts.
The locations.
The betrayals.
Eleanor had taught her to remember every detail.
And before disappearing, Sarah had transferred the final key to Emma.
“But I don't remember.”
His uncle smiled.
“You were six.”
Emma's stomach turned.
“What happened when I was six?”
Nobody answered.
Then Victor's phone rang.
The caller was his father.
Victor answered.
A whisper came through.
“Son.”
Victor turned pale.
“Dad?”
“Get Emma out.”
“Where are you?”
“Don't trust—”
The call cut.
Victor stared at the phone.
His uncle smiled.
“You should have listened.”
“To what?”
The mansion lights went out.
A gunshot cracked through the darkness.
When the emergency lights returned, Victor's uncle was gone.
And on the dining table sat a fresh photograph.
Emma picked it up.
It showed her mother holding Emma as a child.
Behind them stood Eleanor.
And behind Eleanor stood Victor's father.
Someone had circled one figure in red.
It was Emma's mother.
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Underneath was one sentence:
She didn't disappear. She escaped.
