Chapter 8 - The Last Attempt to Silence the Gardener
The woman standing at the door did not look afraid.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Most people who arrived at a hidden house after being discovered in the middle of a family conspiracy would hesitate.
They would look around.
They would question whether they were safe.
She didn’t.
She simply stood there.
Like she belonged.
Like she had been expected.
Emmett stared at her.
I watched his face carefully.
Because I knew him well enough now to recognize the moments when he was pretending not to feel something.
And this was one of those moments.
His entire body had gone still.
“Emmett,” the woman said.
Her voice was quiet.
Almost gentle.
But it carried something heavier.
History.
Pain.
Regret.
Emmett took one step forward.
Then stopped.
“Who are you?”
The woman looked at him.
And for the first time, her expression broke.
Not much.
Just enough.
Enough for me to see that she had waited years for this moment.
“My name is Evelyn.”
Nobody spoke.
Because everyone already knew what that meant.
The photograph.
The hidden documents.
The impossible truth.
Evelyn Howerin.
The sister Emmett never knew existed.
She looked older than the girl in the picture.
Of course she did.
Years had passed.
Secrets had aged everyone.
But there was something familiar about her.
The same eyes as Emmett.
The same controlled expression.
The same habit of hiding emotion behind silence.
Emmett looked away.
“No.”
Evelyn’s face changed.
“Emmett—”
“No.”
His voice became sharper.
“My father told me I was an only child.”
“He lied.”
“My mother told me I was an only child.”
“She didn’t know.”
“My entire life—”
He stopped.
Because he couldn’t finish the sentence.
His entire life had been built around a version of reality that no longer existed.
I understood that feeling.
Not the money.
Not the power.
But the shock of discovering the truth had been standing beside you the whole time.
Evelyn stepped inside.
Rafferty closed the door behind her.
“You’re alive.”
Emmett looked at her.
It was the strangest thing I had ever seen.
A man who had survived an assassination attempt.
A man who controlled businesses worth billions.
A man who never showed weakness.
Standing there completely lost because a person he thought was impossible was standing in front of him.
“Why?” he asked.
Evelyn lowered her eyes.
“Because your father made me disappear.”
“Why?”
“Because he was trying to protect me.”
Emmett laughed quietly.
A bitter sound.
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
His eyes moved between Rafferty and Evelyn.
“Protect me. Protect her. Protect the family.”
He shook his head.
“But nobody ever protected the truth.”
The room became silent.
Evelyn accepted that.
Maybe because she knew he was right.
“I wanted to tell you.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because every person who tried to expose what happened ended up destroyed.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
Evelyn looked at me.
Not because she knew me.
Because she understood why I was there.
“The gardener.”
I blinked.
“You know who I am?”
“Yes.”
That answer frightened me.
“How?”
Evelyn looked at Emmett.
“Because your father wrote about her.”
Emmett frowned.
“My father wrote about Mara?”
“Yes.”
Nobody moved.
I felt suddenly cold.
“Why?”
Evelyn reached into her coat.
She pulled out a small notebook.
Old.
Worn.
The edges damaged.
She placed it on the table.
“Because he knew someone honest would eventually find the truth.”
Emmett opened it.
The handwriting was his father’s.
I could tell by the way his face changed.
He recognized it immediately.
He turned several pages.
Then stopped.
“What is this?”
Evelyn looked at him.
“Your father’s final investigation.”
“Into what?”
“Into the people closest to him.”
Emmett’s fingers tightened around the notebook.
The answer was obvious.
But he needed to hear it.
“Warren?”
Evelyn nodded.
“Beatrice.”
His eyes hardened.
“Yes.”
“And someone else.”
The room went quiet.
“Who?”
Evelyn didn’t answer immediately.
She looked toward the window.
Like she was afraid the walls could hear.
Then she said:
“Your mother.”
The words made no sense.
Emmett stared.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“She died when I was twelve.”
“I know.”
“Then how?”
Evelyn looked at him.
“Because she didn’t die the way you were told.”
The silence afterward felt impossible.
I watched Emmett.
The anger.
The confusion.
The disbelief.
Everything fighting inside him.
“What are you saying?”
Evelyn stepped closer.
“Your mother discovered what your uncle was doing.”
“My uncle?”
“Yes.”
“The same uncle who was stealing from my father?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She tried to expose him.”
Evelyn’s voice became quieter.
“But she trusted the wrong person.”
Emmett’s expression changed.
“Who?”
Evelyn looked at the notebook.
Then at him.
“Your father.”
Nobody moved.
Even Rafferty looked shocked.
“My father?”
“Your father knew.”
Emmett stepped back.
“No.”
“He knew everything.”
“No.”
“He knew his brother was dangerous.”
“No.”
“He knew your mother wanted to tell the truth.”
Emmett’s voice cracked.
“Stop.”
Evelyn stopped.
Not because she was afraid.
Because she understood.
There were moments when the truth became too heavy to carry all at once.
Rafferty quietly said:
“Emmett.”
But he didn’t respond.
He just stared at the notebook.
At the handwriting.
At the evidence of a life that had been hidden from him.
Then his phone rang.
Everyone turned.
The screen showed an unknown number.
Nobody moved.
Finally, Emmett answered.
No one spoke.
Then a voice came through.
A voice I recognized.
Warren.
“Still looking for answers?”
Emmett’s face changed.
“Where are you?”
A small laugh.
“You always were your father’s son.”
“Where are you?”
“You found Evelyn.”
Silence.
“How?”
“Because she was never good at hiding.”
Evelyn’s face tightened.
Warren continued.
“And neither was the gardener.”
My blood froze.
Emmett looked at me.
The voice continued.
“You should have listened when I warned you.”
Emmett’s grip tightened around the phone.
“What do you want?”
“What I always wanted.”
A pause.
“Your father’s empire.”
Then the call ended.
Nobody spoke.
Until my phone vibrated.
A message.
Unknown number.
I looked down.
One sentence.
You have five minutes to leave the house.
Then another message arrived.
A picture.
May you like
My apartment.
Burning.
