Chapter 9 - The Second WillThe greenhouse had been locked for fifteen years.
Mother always said Grandma used it for storage.
That was a lie.
Inside were rows of dead plants.
Broken gardening tools.
Old furniture covered in sheets.
At the back stood a wooden cabinet.
Its lock opened with Grandma's brass key.
Inside were twelve envelopes.
Every envelope had a date.
I opened the oldest.
A photograph.
My father holding me as a toddler.
Another showed him holding Solange.
Another showed Grandma standing beside him.
Behind the photographs was a handwritten journal.
It documented everything.
Mother's marriage.
My father's illness.
The first stolen patent.
The money transfers.
The arguments.
And finally, Marcel Vey.
Grandma wrote that Marcel had approached Mother when she was desperate for money.
He promised to rescue the family business.
In exchange, he wanted access to my father's intellectual property.
My father refused.
Mother didn't.
I turned the page.
The handwriting became shakier.
Odette believes Vivienne will never know.
She thinks the girl is too insignificant to threaten their plans.
I stopped reading.
That word hurt more than I expected.
Insignificant.
Then another page.
Vivienne is not insignificant.
She is the most dangerous person in this family because she does not know what she is capable of.
I cried.
Grandma had believed in me when nobody else did.
At the bottom of the next page was a location.
Saint Dorian Recovery Center.
Underneath:
Basement Archive 4.
Adrian arrived that evening.
“We need a court order.”
“We don't have time.”
“We do not break into abandoned facilities.”
I looked at him.
“Grandma thought someone had hidden evidence there.”
“That's exactly why we need to do this legally.”
He was right.
Two days later, we had authorization.
Saint Dorian had been closed for nearly two decades.
The basement still smelled like dust and disinfectant.
We found Archive 4.
The door was rusted shut.
Inside were boxes of patient files.
Most were destroyed.
One wasn't.
A box marked with my father's name.
I opened it.
His medical records.
Transfer documents.
Payment records.
And one photograph.
My father entering a vehicle.
The driver was Marcel Vey.
The date was the same day my father disappeared.
My knees almost gave out.
There was also a letter.
Written by a doctor.
Your father was transferred against medical advice.
His destination was not authorized by the hospital.
I was instructed to alter the records.
I refused.
Three days later, I was fired.
My hands shook.
“Where did the vehicle go?”
Emery checked the photograph metadata.
“There is a license plate.”
Adrian stared at it.
“That vehicle belonged to a Meridian subsidiary.”
I closed my eyes.
Then we heard footsteps.
Someone was in the basement.
Adrian turned off the flashlight.
We stood still.
Footsteps moved between the shelves.
Closer.
Closer.
A box crashed to the floor.
Then a man's voice.
“Give me the file.”
Emery whispered, “Back door.”
We moved.
The stranger followed.
We reached the stairwell.
I looked back.
For one second, I saw his face.
I knew him.
Not personally.
But from television.
A former Meridian security director.
The man believed to have retired seven years ago.
He looked directly at me.
Then smiled.
“You should have left the past buried.”
We ran.
At the top of the stairs, Adrian locked the door behind us.
I held the file against my chest.
Inside was one final sheet.
A current address.
Not an old one.
A current one.
I read it.
My father's name was listed beside it.
He wasn't dead.
May you like
He had been alive all these years.
And someone had been making sure I never found him.
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