Chapter 3: The Room Edward Never Let Anyone Enter
Edward's study had remained untouched since his funeral.
His leather chair still faced the garden. His reading glasses rested beside a stack of old newspapers. A framed photograph of us on our honeymoon sat beneath the brass desk lamp.
And behind the enormous walnut bookshelf was a door most people didn't know existed.
Edward called it his private cellar.
He had installed it himself after purchasing the house.
Only three people knew about it.
Edward.
Me.
And Michael.
I walked toward the study.
Harlow immediately stepped in front of me.
"Where do you think you're going?""
"To Edward's cellar.""
"You can't go in there.""
I stared at her.
"Excuse me?""
"That room is full of junk. There's nothing in there you need.""
Michael stepped beside me.
"Mrs. Bellmont, move.""
Harlow folded her arms.
"You're not entering that room.""
Nathan looked at his wife.
"Why not?""
"Because I said so!""
Her voice echoed through the hallway.
I studied her face.
She was frightened.
Not annoyed. Not embarrassed.
Frightened.
"Michael," I said quietly, "please.""
He walked to the bookshelf and pressed the small brass latch Edward had shown us years ago.
A soft click sounded.
The heavy shelf moved forward several inches.
Behind it stood a narrow oak door.
Harlow backed away.
"Corinthia, don't do this.""
I looked at her.
"You've spent the last hour telling me what I can and cannot do in my own home. I'm finished listening.""
Michael opened the door.
The smell of cedar and old wine drifted into the hallway.
A staircase descended into darkness.
Edward had built the cellar with temperature controls, reinforced walls, and custom wooden racks.
But when Michael switched on the lights, I saw something that made my knees weaken.
The racks were empty.
Every single one.
Except for a small wooden crate in the corner.
I descended the stairs slowly.
"Edward...""
The word escaped my lips.
Nathan followed me.
"Mom, what's that?""
Michael opened the crate.
Inside were thirteen empty wine sleeves.
Each one bore the handwritten label Edward had placed on his bottles.
1982 Bordeaux.
1990 Château Margaux.
1996 Barolo.
The collection had been here.
Someone had removed every bottle.
But that wasn't what frightened Michael.
He was examining a small envelope taped beneath the lid.
"Corinthia," he said, "I think Edward left this for you.""
My hands trembled as I opened it.
Inside was a handwritten note.
My dearest Corinthia,
If you're reading this, someone has entered the cellar without our permission. I hope I'm wrong about what I suspect. But if I'm not, please don't trust anyone who tells you the wine was sold.
I stopped breathing.
Michael read over my shoulder.
The letter continued.
The thirteen bottles were never ordinary investments. Each bottle has a matching ownership certificate. Those certificates are connected to a private storage agreement and a separate financial trust.
Nathan frowned.
"What does that mean?""
Michael took the letter.
"It means the bottles may have been used to conceal a much larger transaction.""
I looked at him.
"Explain.""
He opened his briefcase and retrieved a document Edward had signed two years before his death.
"The wine collection was placed under a private trust. The trust owns more than the physical bottles. It also holds a financial interest connected to the vineyard's preservation rights.""
I stared at him.
"How much?""
Michael hesitated.
"Edward never disclosed the complete valuation to the family. But based on the trust documents, the associated assets could be worth several million dollars.""
Nathan sat on the bottom stair.
"Several million?""
Michael nodded.
"That's why I need to see the original certificates.""
I turned toward the crate.
It was empty.
All thirteen certificates were missing.
Then I noticed something beneath the wooden lining.
A small black USB drive.
Edward had taped it there.
Michael picked it up carefully.
"Did you know about this?""
I shook my head.
"No.""
We returned upstairs.
Harlow was standing beside the fireplace, speaking rapidly into her phone.
When she saw us, she ended the call.
"What's going on?""
Michael held up the USB drive.
"Something your father-in-law left behind.""
She laughed too quickly.
"Probably old photographs.""
"Perhaps.""
Michael connected it to his laptop.
A folder appeared on the screen.
Inside were thirteen scanned ownership certificates, bank statements, and several audio files.
One document caught my attention.
It was a bank transfer authorization dated four months before Edward died.
The amount was $2.4 million.
The receiving institution was a private trust company.
But the listed beneficiary wasn't me.
It was a name I had never seen before.
Nathan leaned over my shoulder.
"Who is that?""
Michael enlarged the document.
Then his expression changed completely.
"Corinthia, this is very important.""
"Who is the beneficiary?""
He pointed to the name.
*Nathaniel Edward Bellmont.*
My son.
Nathan stared at the screen.
"I don't understand. Why would Dad put my name on this?""
Michael opened another file.
It was an audio recording.
Edward's familiar voice filled the study.
"If anything happens to me, the person responsible for managing the trust must be identified. Nathan is the beneficiary, but he cannot access the funds until his fiftieth birthday. Until then, Corinthia retains full control.""
Nathan looked at me.
"Dad never told me.""
Michael stopped the recording.
"There's more.""
He opened a second audio file.
Edward's voice returned, but this time he sounded angry.
"If Harlow ever discovers the trust, she may try to obtain control through Nathan. I have already found evidence that she has been asking questions about the vineyard, the wine certificates, and my financial records.""
Nobody spoke.
I looked at my daughter-in-law.
Her face had become completely white.
"That's ridiculous," she whispered.
Michael opened the final folder.
A scanned photograph appeared.
It showed Harlow standing outside a bank, beside a man I recognized immediately.
He was Edward's former financial adviser.
But Edward had dismissed him two years earlier for suspected misconduct.
Nathan leaned closer.
"Mom...""
Michael zoomed in on the date printed beneath the photograph.
It was taken just three weeks before Edward died.
Then another document appeared.
A private message between Harlow and the financial adviser.
The final sentence read:
Once Edward is gone, we can transfer everything. Nathan won't ask questions, and Corinthia will never know.
Nathan slowly turned toward his wife.
"Harlow?""
She opened her mouth.
But before she could speak, Michael's phone rang.
He listened for several seconds.
Then he looked at me with an expression I will never forget.
"Corinthia, the trust company just confirmed something.""
"What?""
"The $2.4 million wasn't the only money transferred.""
He lowered his voice.
"Someone has already withdrawn the entire balance.""
May you like
And then he gave me the date.
*Edward's funeral.*
