Chapter 9 - THE MAN WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD
Police surrounded the house within minutes.
But Adrian was gone.
The SUV had disappeared before officers arrived.
Brenda sat in the kitchen, trembling.
I poured her water.
“Tell me everything.”
She stared at the glass.
“I was scared.”
“I know.”
“I should have told you.”
“Yes.”
“I thought I could protect Vivienne.”
“You failed.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I know.”
She took a breath.
“Mason approached me six months ago.”
“Why?”
“He wanted access to the company acquisition fund.”
“Did you give it to him?”
“No.”
“He threatened me.”
“With what?”
“My son.”
I froze.
“Your son?”
Brenda nodded.
“He threatened to ruin my family.”
“Where is your son?”
“Safe.”
“Where?”
She hesitated.
“I sent him away.”
I nodded.
“Keep going.”
“Mason told me Adrian was alive.”
“What did he want?”
“Your father's old shares.”
“Why?”
“Because Adrian believed your father stole them.”
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Your father didn't steal the shares.”
“Then who did?”
“Florence.”
I stared at her.
Again.
My mother.
“She forged documents.”
“Why?”
“To protect Mason.”
The pieces began fitting together.
Mason wasn't after money.
He was trying to restore his biological father's position.
Adrian wanted revenge.
Florence wanted to protect Mason.
Paige helped forge medical records.
Dr. Albright provided medical cover.
Brenda had been coerced.
And Vivienne had discovered everything.
But one question remained.
“Why fake Vivienne's death?”
Brenda whispered:
“To make you sign the trust over.”
I froze.
“What trust?”
“The forty-million-dollar trust.”
I remembered the documents.
“If Vivienne died, who inherited it?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“But I didn't know.”
“They planned to convince you that Vivienne died naturally, then manipulate you into transferring the trust.”
“To whom?”
“Mason.”
My stomach turned.
“So the funeral…”
“Was part of the plan.”
I closed my eyes.
The coffin.
The grave.
The ropes.
The doctor.
The death certificate.
Everything.
Then I remembered something.
The broken coffin.
The strap.
The bag beneath Vivienne.
The paramedic had told me not to touch it.
“Where is the bag?”
Brenda looked confused.
“What bag?”
“The one in Vivienne's coffin.”
“I don't know.”
I called the detective.
“Did you recover the bag?”
“Yes.”
“What was inside?”
Silence.
“Detective?”
“We haven't opened it.”
“Why?”
“It's sealed as evidence.”
“Open it.”
“We need authorization.”
“I'll get it.”
He finally agreed.
The contents were photographed.
Then delivered to the hospital.
Inside were three items.
A key.
A photograph.
And a handwritten note.
The photograph showed Vivienne and me.
Taken twenty-two years earlier.
On the back she had written:
The day I married the only man who ever made me feel safe.
The note contained one sentence:
Conrad, if you are reading this, the person you trust most is not who you think.
I looked at Brenda.
She shook her head.
“It's not me.”
I believed her.
Then I thought of someone else.
Someone who had stood beside me at every funeral.
Every birthday.
Every family meeting.
Someone I had never questioned.
Gemma.
My daughter.
I immediately rejected the thought.
No.
Impossible.
But then I remembered something.
Gemma had been the one who found the hidden compartment.
She had received the anonymous messages.
She had known about the blue room.
And she had been unusually calm during the cemetery chaos.
I called her.
No answer.
I called again.
Still nothing.
I looked at Brenda.
“Where is my daughter?”
She stared at me.
“I thought she was with you.”
My blood ran cold.
I called the hospital.
“Is Gemma there?”
The nurse paused.
“No.”
“When did she leave?”
“About an hour ago.”
“With whom?”
The nurse hesitated.
“She left with a woman.”
“What woman?”
“She said the woman was her grandmother.”
May you like
Florence.
I ran for the door.
