Chapter 8 - The Burned Letter in the Ash Drawer
The key to the safe still hadn’t been found, but Maya remembered something else.
Vanessa had been in Theodore’s old sitting room just before Helen noticed the study cabinet open. There was a dead fireplace there, decorative now but still fitted with an ash drawer beneath the grate.
Grant went straight there.
Inside the ash drawer lay the remains of burned stationery, blackened at the edges, but not fully destroyed. Someone had tried to ruin the paper in haste and failed. He used the fireplace tongs to pull out the largest surviving sheet.
It was Theodore’s letter.
Or part of it.
The first lines were gone, eaten by flame. But a section in the middle remained painfully clear.
…if you are reading this, then either Helen has finally chosen truth over obedience, or someone has forced her hand. The greatest theft of your life was not money, land, or your name. It was the right to know the woman who gave you life.
Grant’s fingers tightened.
Below that, another line survived.
The full truth belongs to Helen’s lips, not mine, because I stole enough from her already.
Grant lowered the page as if it might burn him.
Behind him, no one moved.
He turned.
Helen stood in the doorway, one hand covering her mouth, Maya beside her. Vanessa remained farther back in the corridor, pale now, watching him with the rigid stillness of someone who knows the room has turned against her.
Grant looked at Helen.
“The woman who gave me life?”
Helen’s tears came again, but this time she didn’t lower her eyes.
Vanessa spoke first, desperate now. “He’s manipulating you from the grave.”
Grant didn’t even glance at her.
“Helen,” he said, his voice almost calm, “tell me what my father stole.”
Helen drew in one shaking breath.
May you like
And finally whispered, “You.”
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