Chapter 11 - THE LETTER UNDER THE FLOOR
Three years had passed since the night I found Clara beneath the table.
Three peaceful years.
At least, that's what I believed.
Vance Global had recovered. Victoria had taken her rightful place beside me. Clara's foundation had grown into one of the largest private organizations supporting vulnerable mothers in New York.
And Nathaniel was four years old.
He was loud.
Curious.
And absolutely convinced that every room belonged to him.
That morning, he ran through the mansion wearing a superhero cape while Clara chased him with a breakfast plate.
"Nathaniel, you're going to be late for preschool."
"I'm flying!"
"You're flying toward the kitchen."
He crashed into my legs.
I caught him.
"Got you."
He laughed.
Clara stopped in the doorway.
For a moment, I simply looked at them.
My family.
Safe.
Happy.
Then someone rang the doorbell.
Security answered.
A courier stood outside.
He carried no package.
Only an envelope.
"For Mr. Sebastian Vance."
I took it.
There was no return address.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
YOUR FATHER DIDN'T DIE WITH ALL HIS SECRETS.
My smile disappeared.
Clara noticed immediately.
"What is it?"
I handed her the letter.
She read it twice.
Then looked at me.
"Sebastian..."
"I know."
My phone rang.
Marcus.
"Sir, we have a problem."
"What?"
"Someone accessed your father's old storage facility last night."
My blood cooled.
"Impossible."
"We changed the locks years ago."
"Exactly."
I looked at Clara.
"Did they take anything?"
Marcus paused.
"One box."
"What box?"
"The one containing your father's personal records."
I closed my eyes.
For three years, I had believed the war was over.
I had been wrong.
That evening, Victoria arrived.
She examined the letter.
"I've seen this handwriting."
I looked at her.
"Where?"
She hesitated.
"On one of Father's letters."
My heart stopped.
"My father?"
She nodded.
"But that's impossible."
"Why?"
"Because those letters were written twenty years ago."
Victoria turned the page over.
There was a second message hidden beneath the paper.
Only visible when held against the light.
ASK WHO WAS IN THE ROOM WHEN FATHER DIED.
Nobody spoke.
Then Victoria whispered:
"Sebastian..."
"What?"
"Our father wasn't alone when he died."
I stared at her.
"Who was with him?"
She looked at me.
"Eleanor."
The room went silent.
Then my phone buzzed again.
A photograph had arrived.
It showed my father's hospital room.
And in the corner of the photograph stood a man none of us recognized.
May you like
Underneath it were four words:
HE IS STILL ALIVE.
