Chapter 10 - THE HOUSE AT THE END OF THE ROAD
We drove for nearly an hour.
Richard came with us.
I didn't trust him.
But he was the only person who knew where my mother was.
Noah sat in the back seat.
The flash drive was hidden inside his jacket.
The brown box was under my seat.
No one spoke.
Finally, Noah asked:
"Is Grandpa really there?"
Richard looked at him through the mirror.
"Yes."
"Is Grandma there?"
"Yes."
Noah looked at me.
"Then she's not dead."
I swallowed.
"No."
He smiled.
It was the first genuine smile I had seen from him in days.
The road narrowed.
The houses disappeared.
Trees surrounded us.
Then we saw it.
A small white house at the end of a dirt road.
An old pickup sat outside.
I recognized it.
My father's truck.
I hadn't seen it since the funeral.
My hands began shaking.
Richard stopped the car.
"She's inside."
I got out.
Noah followed.
Richard stayed behind.
I walked toward the front door.
Every step felt unreal.
I knocked.
Nothing.
I knocked again.
Then the door opened.
A woman stood there.
Older.
Thinner.
Gray hair.
But I knew her.
I knew her face.
I knew her eyes.
My mother.
For six years I had believed she was dead.
Now she was standing in front of me.
Alive.
She covered her mouth.
"Claire."
I couldn't speak.
I walked toward her.
She opened her arms.
I fell into them.
And for a moment, I was a little girl again.
I cried.
She cried.
Noah stood behind me.
My mother looked at him.
"My grandson."
Noah ran into her arms.
She held him tightly.
Then a voice came from inside the house.
"Claire."
I froze.
My father stepped into the doorway.
Older.
Gray-haired.
Alive.
The same man who had supposedly died six years earlier.
The same man whose funeral I had attended.
The same man who had secretly given my son the box.
I stared at him.
"You lied to me."
He nodded.
"Yes."
"You let me believe you were dead."
"Yes."
"You let me believe Mom was dead."
"Yes."
"Why?"
My father looked toward Richard.
"Because of him."
Richard stepped forward.
"Don't blame me for everything."
My father laughed bitterly.
"You started it."
"No."
Richard's expression hardened.
"You did."
My mother stepped between them.
"Enough."
Both men fell silent.
I looked at my father.
"Tell me the truth."
He nodded.
"You deserve it."
"Everything."
"Everything."
He looked at Noah.
Then at me.
"Your mother discovered the fraud."
"What fraud?"
"The company had been losing money for years."
"Because of Richard."
"Yes."
Richard interrupted.
"I was taking money."
My father continued.
"But there was more."
He walked toward a desk.
He opened a drawer.
Inside was a thick folder.
He placed it on the table.
"Richard wasn't the only one."
I stared.
"Who else?"
My father looked at me.
"Julian."
My heart stopped.
"Julian?"
"He discovered the money."
"Then why did he help you?"
"Because he wanted the money."
I shook my head.
"No."
My father opened the folder.
Inside were photographs.
Bank transfers.
Contracts.
Emails.
And one photograph that made my blood freeze.
Julian.
Victoria.
Richard.
And another man.
Standing together.
Planning something.
My father said quietly:
"Julian's affair wasn't an accident."
I stared at the photograph.
"He was sent to Victoria."
"Yes."
"To marry her?"
"Eventually."
"Why?"
My father looked at Noah.
"Because they needed access to the trust."
My stomach turned.
"But why Noah?"
My father didn't answer immediately.
Then he said:
"Because your son inherited something none of them knew existed."
"What?"
My father looked at me.
"Your grandfather's company."
I stared.
"Grandfather?"
"My father."
I shook my head.
"My grandfather died before I was born."
"No."
My father opened another folder.
"He didn't."
He placed a document in front of me.
An old inheritance agreement.
My name was on it.
Then Noah's.
I read the final paragraph.
Upon the birth of Daniel Vance's first legitimate child, controlling ownership shall transfer to the child upon reaching adulthood.
I looked at my father.
"Noah."
He nodded.
"The company was never Julian's."
"It belonged to Noah."
"Yes."
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
"Because if you knew, they would come for him."
I looked at my son.
He was standing beside my mother.
He had no idea how much his life had just changed.
Then my father's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
"Who is it?"
He listened.
Then looked at me.
"It's Julian."
I stepped forward.
"What does he want?"
My father handed me the phone.
Julian's voice came through.
Calm.
Cold.
Completely different from the frightened man I had seen at the wedding.
"Claire."
"What do you want?"
"I want my son."
I tightened my grip on the phone.
"Why?"
A pause.
Then Julian said:
"Because your father isn't telling you the whole truth."
I looked at my father.
Julian continued:
"And if you don't bring Noah to me tonight..."
His voice lowered.
"...your mother dies for real."
The call ended.
I looked at my mother.
Then at Noah.
Then at my father.
And I finally understood.
The wedding had never been about Julian and Victoria.
It had been a trap.
May you like
And Noah had been the target from the beginning.
To be continued.
