Chapter 10 - The Man Behind the Locked DoorThe address belonged to a quiet rehabilitation residence three hours north of the city.
We arrived before sunset.
The caretaker checked the name.
Then looked at me.
“He's been expecting someone.”
“Who?”
“You.”
My heart stopped.
He led me down a long hallway.
At the end was a small room.
He knocked.
A man's voice answered.
“Come in.”
I opened the door.
And saw my father.
Older.
Thinner.
His hair almost entirely gray.
But his eyes were the same.
I knew them immediately.
He stared at me.
I stared at him.
Neither of us spoke.
Then he whispered my childhood nickname.
“Vivi.”
I broke.
I crossed the room and fell into his arms.
He held me so tightly that I could barely breathe.
“I thought you abandoned me.”
“I tried to come back.”
“Why didn't you?”
“They wouldn't let me.”
“Who?”
He looked at Adrian.
Then Emery.
Then me.
“Your mother.”
I stepped back.
My father told me everything.
He had discovered Mother's financial scheme before I turned seventeen.
He confronted her.
She threatened to ruin him.
When he tried to report the forged patent documents, he was forcibly transferred to Saint Dorian.
Marcel paid people to keep him there.
Eventually, my father escaped.
But by then, everyone believed he had disappeared.
Grandma found him.
She sent money.
Arranged treatment.
Kept him hidden.
“Why didn't she tell me?”
“Because she thought they would come after you.”
I swallowed.
“Did they?”
My father nodded.
“They never stopped.”
Then he gave me a folded document.
It was a copy of the second will.
The real one.
Not the version read by Adrian.
I opened it.
It contained one astonishing clause.
Upon my death, if Vivienne proves that her company and intellectual property were obtained without her informed consent, controlling authority shall transfer not only to her, but to a foundation in her father's name.
My father smiled faintly.
“She wanted you to decide what happened next.”
I looked at the date.
It had been signed one week before Grandma's death.
Then I saw another name.
A witness.
Marcel Vey.
I looked up.
“Why would Marcel witness your mother's will?”
My father shook his head.
“That isn't his signature.”
Adrian examined it.
He went pale.
“This was forged.”
We looked at one another.
The implications were enormous.
Someone had created a fake second will too.
Then my father's expression changed.
“There's something else.”
“What?”
“He came here.”
“Who?”
“Marcel.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“What did he want?”
My father looked frightened for the first time.
“He wanted to know whether your grandmother had told you about the account.”
“What account?”
“The account containing the original ownership records.”
I felt my pulse rise.
“Where is it?”
My father pointed toward the wall.
“There.”
A painting hung above the bed.
We removed it.
Behind it was a small metal box.
Inside was a handwritten account number.
And a note from Grandma.
The account is not the inheritance.
It is the proof.
Emery stared at the number.
“I know this bank.”
I looked at him.
“Where?”
“Switzerland.”
My father closed his eyes.
“That's where Marcel hid the original documents.”
A phone suddenly rang in the hallway.
Then footsteps.
May you like
My father whispered:
“They found us.”
Related Stories
