Chapter 7 - The Wall That Wasn't a WallRobert survived.
The bullet missed his heart by less than an inch.
But he couldn't follow us.
So Margaret and I returned to the ranch.
Your father's office had been locked since his death.
I had spent decades believing I knew every inch of it.
Apparently, I knew nothing.
Margaret walked to the fireplace.
“Your father always stood here.”
She tapped the stone wall.
“Every morning.”
I examined it.
Nothing.
Then I remembered something.
A painting.
My father hated it.
He always told me to leave it exactly where it was.
I removed it.
Behind it was a narrow metal panel.
My heart hammered.
Margaret inserted a small key.
The panel opened.
Inside was a hidden staircase.
We descended.
At the bottom was a room.
No windows.
No furniture.
Only one desk.
On it sat an old tape recorder.
And a letter.
My name was on it.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Clifford,
If you're reading this, I've failed to keep the ranch safe.
I sat down.
The letter continued.
The Vale organization has controlled Texas land deals for generations. Your grandfather fought them. I thought I could do the same. I was wrong.
Then came the sentence that changed everything.
Your mother did not die naturally.
I stopped breathing.
Margaret closed her eyes.
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“You knew.”
She nodded.
“I was there when they came for her.”
I stood.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“That telling you would get you killed.”
The tape recorder clicked.
My father's voice filled the room.
“If Vivian Rook is alive, she will come for the mineral trust.”
A pause.
“And she will use anyone she can.”
Another pause.
“Even my son's daughter.”
I stared at the recorder.
Avery.
My father knew.
He had predicted this decades ago.
Then his voice dropped.
“The only person who can stop her is Margaret.”
I looked at Margaret.
The tape continued.
“She has the original beneficiary documents.”
Margaret went pale.
“What?”
I turned toward her.
“You have them?”
“No.”
“Don't lie.”
She took a step backward.
“I thought they were destroyed.”
“Where are they?”
“I don't know.”
The door slammed shut behind us.
We turned.
Alan stood there.
Gun in hand.
“You two are remarkably difficult to kill.”
I stepped in front of Margaret.
“Where's Avery?”
“Alive.”
“For now?”
Alan smiled.
“You're learning.”
“You used my daughter.”
“I married her.”
“You never loved her.”
His face hardened.
“Don't talk about things you don't understand.”
I laughed.
“You married a woman because you wanted her father's land.”
“That's not the whole story.”
“What story?”
Alan looked toward Margaret.
“She knows.”
Margaret whispered his name.
“Alan…”
He lifted the gun.
“Tell him.”
Margaret said nothing.
Alan stepped closer.
“You want to know why I married Avery?”
I stared.
“Because she isn't the heir.”
The room fell silent.
“What?”
Alan smiled.
“Clifford, you never asked who would inherit the trust if you died.”
I looked at Margaret.
She wouldn't meet my eyes.
Alan continued.
“Your daughter isn't the beneficiary.”
My chest tightened.
“Then who is?”
He laughed.
“You really don't know.”
He reached into his pocket.
Pulled out a photograph.
A newborn baby.
A young woman held the child.
My daughter.
But the woman wasn't Avery's mother.
It was someone else.
Alan whispered:
“The heir is already here.”
I stared at the photograph.
Then I recognized the woman.
My blood froze.
She had been standing beside Avery at the wedding.
My daughter's maid of honor.
And her name was Rachel.
Alan smiled.
“Rachel isn't Avery's friend.”
“She is family.”
Then he stepped backward.
The lights went out.
When they returned, Alan was gone.
And on the desk, beneath the recorder, was another photograph.
Avery holding a baby.
On the back:
THE CHILD WAS BORN THREE YEARS AGO.
I looked at Margaret.
“What child?”
May you like
She whispered:
“Avery has a son.”
