CHAPTER 5 — THE GHOST OF THE VANCE FAMILY

CHAPTER 5 — THE GHOST OF THE VANCE FAMILY
The door opened slowly.
Not violently.
Not dramatically.
Just slowly.
And somehow, that was worse.
Marcus stood frozen in the middle of the apartment, staring at the silhouette standing in the doorway.
The man didn’t rush.
He didn’t need to.
Some people carried power without saying a word.
This man was one of them.
His gray hair was perfectly combed back.
His expensive black coat looked untouched by the rain outside.
His posture was straight.
Controlled.
Almost impossible for someone who was supposed to have died twelve years ago.
Victor’s face turned pale.
"Henry."
The old man smiled faintly.
"Hello, Victor."
The sound of his name coming from that mouth made the room feel smaller.
Marcus looked between them.
"Who is that?"
Nobody answered.
And the silence itself was terrifying.
Because Marcus suddenly understood.
This was not a normal family secret.
This was something much bigger.
Something people had killed for.
Henry Vance stepped into the apartment.
His eyes moved across the room.
First to Victor.
Then to Maya.
Then finally to Marcus.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
He simply looked at him.
Like he was studying a painting that had been hidden away for years.
"So," Henry whispered.
"Catherine's son."
Marcus felt a chill.
He hated the way the man said it.
Not like he was meeting family.
Like he was confirming the existence of evidence.
"You know who I am," Marcus said.
Henry smiled.
"I knew who you were before you did."
Victor stepped forward.
"Stay away from him."
Henry looked at his son.
A cold expression appeared.
"You always did have a talent for pretending to be the hero."
Victor’s jaw tightened.
"And you always had a talent for destroying everything you touched."
The room became silent.
For a moment, Marcus saw something unexpected.
Not fear.
Pain.
Between Henry and Victor was something older than hatred.
A wound that never healed.
At the Beaumont Hotel, Eleanor sat across from Richard.
The billionaire had aged ten years in one night.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
The man who controlled thousands of employees was now sitting quietly, staring at an old photograph.
"Henry is alive," Eleanor said.
Richard nodded.
"Yes."
"How long have you known?"
Richard looked at her.
"I didn't."
"You believed he was dead."
"I needed to believe it."
Eleanor studied him.
That answer bothered her.
Because it sounded less like certainty.
More like guilt.
"What happened after Victor disappeared?"
Richard took a slow breath.
"My father told me Victor left because he couldn't handle losing control."
"And you believed him?"
Richard didn't answer.
Eleanor leaned forward.
"Richard."
Finally, he whispered:
"No."
The honesty surprised her.
"I didn't believe him."
"Then why did you do nothing?"
Richard looked down.
"Because I was afraid of what I would find."
That sentence stayed in the room.
A billionaire.
A man with unlimited resources.
A man who could hire investigators, lawyers, anyone.
And yet he was afraid to search for the truth.
Back in the apartment, Henry sat down calmly.
Like he owned the place.
Like everyone else was visiting him.
Marcus stared at him.
"Did you kill my mother?"
The question was direct.
Everyone froze.
Henry looked at Marcus.
Then laughed quietly.
Not because it was funny.
Because he was impressed.
"You have Catherine's courage."
Marcus stepped forward.
"Answer me."
Henry tilted his head.
"No."
A pause.
"Not directly."
Victor’s eyes darkened.
"You son of a..."
"Careful."
Henry interrupted.
His voice remained calm.
"Your anger is exactly what makes you predictable."
Victor clenched his fists.
Marcus noticed something.
Victor was afraid.
Not of Henry’s words.
Of what Henry might reveal.
"Why did you come here?" Maya asked.
Henry looked at her.
"Because secrets become dangerous when too many people know them."
His eyes moved toward Marcus.
"Your mother made one mistake."
"What?"
"She trusted people."
Marcus stared.
"My mother trusted my father?"
Henry smiled.
"Your mother trusted Richard."
Silence.
That sentence confused Marcus.
"Why?"
Henry leaned back.
"Because Catherine believed Richard still had a conscience."
He paused.
"She was wrong."
Victor immediately stepped between them.
"Don't listen to him."
Henry smiled.
"There it is."
"What?"
"The same thing you've done your entire life."
Henry looked at Victor.
"You protect people from the truth because you think they cannot handle it."
Victor said nothing.
Because maybe, deep down, he knew.
Eleanor opened the envelope carefully.
Inside was a single piece of paper.
Only a few lines.
Richard watched her face.
Then he saw her expression change.
"What does it say?"
Eleanor didn't answer immediately.
She read it again.
Then slowly placed the letter down.
"Richard..."
"What?"
Her eyes lifted.
"This letter wasn't written by you."
Richard froze.
"What?"
Eleanor pointed at the signature.
"It looks like your handwriting."
She touched the ink.
"But this isn't your signature."
Richard moved closer.
His face changed.
Because she was right.
Someone had copied his handwriting.
Someone had created a letter designed to look like it came from him.
The question was:
Why?
Marcus noticed his phone vibrating.
Unknown number.
Again.
He looked at Victor.
Victor shook his head.
"Don't answer."
But Marcus already had.
Silence.
Then a voice.
A woman.
Weak.
Shaking.
A voice he hadn't heard in years.
"Marcus?"
His entire body froze.
Because he knew that voice.
Impossible.
It couldn't be.
His mother had been dead for three years.
"Mom?"
Everyone looked at him.
The voice continued.
"Listen carefully."
Marcus couldn't breathe.
"You cannot trust Richard Vance."
A pause.
Then:
"But you also cannot trust Henry."
Marcus looked around the room.
The dead.
The missing.
The forgotten.
All of them were connected.
"Who are you?" Marcus whispered.
The voice became softer.
"Someone who should have died with Catherine."
The call ended.
Marcus stared at the phone.
Victor looked terrified.
Maya covered her mouth.
Henry’s calm expression finally disappeared.
For the first time...
He looked afraid.
Because the voice on the phone belonged to the one person who knew the entire truth.
The person who had witnessed everything fifteen years ago.
The person everyone believed was dead.
May you like
Catherine Vance.
TO BE CONTINUED...