Chapter 8: The Room My Father Locked Away
The old west wing looked different at night.
Even inside my own house, it felt unfamiliar.
The hallway was dark.
The lights flickered above us.
The portraits lining the walls seemed to watch as Vincent and I walked deeper into the forgotten part of Blackwood Manor.
I hated that feeling.
Because I had spent my entire life believing this house belonged to me.
Now it felt like the house belonged to the secrets.
“You’ve never been here?”” I asked Vincent.
He shook his head.
“Not after your father sealed it.””
I looked at the locked door at the end of the hallway.
A heavy wooden door with an old metal handle.
My father’s work.
Everything about it felt deliberate.
“Why would he lock away his own records?””
Vincent stared at the door.
“Because he was afraid someone would find them.””
I placed my hand on the handle.
“Someone already did.””
I opened the door.
Inside was a room untouched by time.
A desk.
Shelves.
Old photographs.
Boxes.
Everything covered in dust.
But one thing was obvious.
Someone had been here recently.
A chair was pulled out.
A folder sat open.
Fresh footprints marked the floor.
I stepped inside.
“We’re not alone.””
Vincent immediately moved closer.
Then we heard it.
A sound.
From behind the shelves.
A slow movement.
I reached for my weapon.
“Come out.””
Silence.
Then a voice.
A voice I had never heard before.
But somehow felt familiar.
“You look just like your father.””
A man stepped from the shadows.
Older.
Gray hair.
Calm eyes.
A scar along his jaw.
I knew before Vincent spoke.
“Damian.””
The man smiled.
Not warmly.
Not kindly.
Like someone who had been waiting years for this moment.
“My nephew.””
I stared at him.
The man my family buried.
The man who was supposed to be gone.
The man who had turned my life upside down without ever showing his face.
“You kidnapped my wife.””
Damian looked almost offended.
“No.””
“Don’t lie to me.””
“I didn’t kidnap Clara.””
His eyes shifted.
“I saved her.””
I laughed.
“You trapped her beneath my house.””
“Because someone was trying to kill her.””
The words stopped me.
“What?””
Damian walked toward the desk.
“Your father’s enemies didn’t disappear when he died.””
Vincent stepped forward.
“Why should we believe you?””
Damian smiled.
“Because you already know I’m telling the truth.””
Vincent went silent.
That bothered me.
I looked at him.
“What does he mean?””
Damian opened a folder.
Inside were documents.
Photographs.
Records.
More evidence.
“This is what Clara found.””
I grabbed the folder.
The names.
The accounts.
The signatures.
My heart sank.
Because one name appeared repeatedly.
Elena Blackwood.
I stared.
“No.””
Damian watched me carefully.
“Your sister wasn’t stealing for herself.””
I looked up.
“Then who?””
Damian leaned back.
“Someone who has been using your family for years.””
“Who?””
His expression changed.
The confidence disappeared.
For the first time, I saw fear.
Not fake fear.
Real fear.
“The person who killed your father.””
The room became silent.
My father’s death had always been called an accident.
A heart attack.
That was the official story.
But Damian was saying something else.
“You expect me to believe you?””
“No.””
He looked at the documents.
“I expect you to read.””
I looked down.
There it was.
A record.
A payment.
A date.
The same week my father died.
My hands went cold.
Because attached to the record was a name.
A name I recognized.
A name that made everything worse.
Vincent saw it too.
His face changed.
“Impossible.””
I looked at him.
“What?””
He didn’t answer.
He just stared at the page.
Then Damian whispered:
“The person who destroyed your family has been standing beside you the entire time.””
My eyes moved slowly.
From the document.
To Vincent.
May you like
And for the second time in my life…
I wondered if the person I trusted most was the person I should have feared.
