PART 5: Securing the Lost Evidence
PART 5: Securing the Lost Evidence
Hidden study walls conceal rusted metal boxes.
By 3:00 a.m., while Lucy rested peacefully under heavy sedation in the guest suite under my constant supervision, Alejandro and I stood in the darkened mahogany-paneled study on the ground floor of the mansion.
The room was silent, save for the ticking of an antique grandfather clock in the corner.
Alejandro had spent the last hour reviewing old corporate deed transfers and physical blueprints of our home—blueprints that dated back to the original construction of the estate built by his father thirty years ago.
"She said it was hidden beneath the floorboards of the study," Alejandro muttered, holding a heavy tactical flashlight down toward the Persian rug near the executive desk.
"Why are you looking for it?" I asked, standing near the doorway with my arms crossed over my chest, watching him with guarded suspicion. "Are you trying to find the ledger before the authorities do so you can protect your family name?"
Alejandro stopped, turning his head to look at me, his expression hardened with a quiet, fierce resolve.
"I'm looking for it because my father lied to me my entire life," Alejandro said evenly, his voice dropping into a harsh register. "If Richard Vance ruined your family to build his empire, then I am going to help you tear that empire down, brick by brick. Even if it ruins me in the process."
I stared at him, searching his eyes for any sign of deception.
I found none. Only raw, agonizing regret.
"Check beneath the baseboard near the radiator," I instructed quietly, remembering how my mother used to hide her spare jewelry pouch when I was a little girl.
Alejandro dropped to his knees, pulling a small pocket knife from his trousers and sliding the blade along the edge of the heavy oak baseboard.
With a sharp, splintering crack, a concealed wooden panel popped loose.
Inside the dark cavity sat a small, heavy metal lockbox covered in a thick layer of dust and rusted around the hinges.
Alejandro carefully lifted it out, placing it on the Persian rug between us.
He didn't have a key, but the rusted latch was weak.
With a sharp tug from a heavy brass fireplace poker, the lid snapped open.
May you like
Inside lay a stack of yellowed paper documents, a microcassette tape, and a sealed manila envelope bearing the official letterhead of the city zoning commission.
The truth was finally waiting to be read.
