Chapter 23 - The Unopened Envelope
By 1:00 AM, the caterers had packed up the last of the glassware, the gates were locked, and the vast estate was wrapped in tranquil silence.
Ryan had gone upstairs to change out of his tuxedo, while I remained in Grandfather’s study on the ground floor, checking the final charity donation tally on my laptop. Over two million dollars had been raised in a single night. A profound sense of accomplishment settled into my bones.
A sharp knock sounded at the heavy oak door of the study.
"Ryan?" I called out, looking up from my screen. "The door is open."
The door swung inward, but it wasn't Ryan.
Standing in the doorway was Marcus Cole. He was still wearing his formal overcoat, his silver hair slightly windswept, but his face was unusually grim. There was no celebratory smile on his lips; instead, his posture was tense, his jaw set in a hard, rigid line.
"Marcus?" I stood up, frowning with concern. "I thought you left an hour ago with the board members."
"I did," Marcus said, his voice unusually low as he closed the study door behind him and turned the brass lock with a quiet, ominous click. "I was halfway home when I received an urgent encrypted courier from the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s field office in New York."
My heart gave a sudden, uneasy thud against my ribs. "The FBI? Derek Vance’s case is already closed. What does New York want with us?"
Marcus didn't answer immediately. He walked slowly across the Persian rug and stopped at the mahogany desk. From the inner pocket of his coat, he pulled out a thick, water-damaged manila envelope, sealed with red wax bearing an antique, unfamiliar crest.
"When Paige broke into the cellar vault two weeks ago, she took the 2004 ledgers from the top compartment," Marcus explained quietly. "What she didn't know—and what your grandfather never told anyone, not even me—was that the utility vault had a false sub-floor."
I stared at the envelope on the desk. "A false sub-floor?"
"The federal marshals discovered it this afternoon while conducting the final inventory seizure of Derek Vance’s secondary properties," Marcus continued, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made the hair on my arms stand up. "Derek didn't just want Grandfather’s company, Maya. He was searching for this."
"What is it, Marcus?" I asked, my hand hovering hesitantly over the red wax seal.
"It’s Julian Vance’s personal confession," Marcus whispered. "Written forty-eight hours before his death."
My breath caught in my throat. "Confession about what?"
"About your mother. About Paige," Marcus said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "And about why Paige hated you from the day you were born."
Marcus leaned forward, his hands resting flat against the desk.
"Paige wasn't just your jealous sister, Maya. Julian didn't cut Eleanor out of the will because of gambling debts. And the girl who tried to drown you in that pool... wasn't acting alone. There is someone else, Maya. Someone who has been pulling the strings behind your family's destruction for thirty years—and according to this letter, they just purchased fifty-one percent of our debt notes on the private market this evening."
Before I could speak, my cell phone on the desk buzzed violently.
An unknown number flashed on the screen.
With trembling fingers, I touched the green icon and held the phone to my ear.
May you like
A smooth, deep, unfamiliar voice spoke through the speaker, chilling me to the bone:
*"Good evening, Maya. I believe you've been sitting in my father's chair long enough."*