Chapter 6: The Man Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
Catherine closed the conference room door before speaking again.
“Emily, I need you to understand something. Your family has been carrying secrets for a very long time.””
I sat opposite her, the forged transfer agreement between us.
“Then stop protecting me from them,” I said.
“Tell me everything.””
Catherine's hands tightened around her handbag.
“Daniel was Eleanor's eldest child. He was brilliant, ambitious, and deeply resentful that your grandmother intended to leave the company to your father rather than him.””
“Why?””
“Your father believed the business should grow slowly, preserving Eleanor's original designs. Daniel wanted to sell the company to a luxury conglomerate. He thought the name was worth more than the work.””
“And Vanessa?””
“She admired Daniel. They shared the same ambition.””
I looked down at the document.
“So they worked together.””
“That was my suspicion. But I never had proof.””
“Then why did Dad believe Daniel was dead?””
Catherine's expression softened.
“Your father and Daniel had a terrible argument after a business meeting. Daniel left Atlanta that night. Several weeks later, a car registered in his name was found abandoned near a bridge outside Savannah. There were personal belongings inside, and the police believed he'd driven into the water.””
“Did they find his body?””
“No.””
“Then why did everyone assume he was dead?””
“Because Daniel had struggled with debt, and there was a note suggesting he intended to disappear. Your father searched for months. Eventually, he accepted that his brother was gone.””
I felt a chill crawl up my arms.
“And now his name appears on a document transferring my grandmother's designs.””
“Yes.””
Ethan pulled out a chair beside me.
“Could someone have used his name without his knowledge?””
“It's possible,” Catherine replied.
“But if Daniel is alive, he could be the missing link in this entire affair.””
Rebecca closed the archival folder.
“I'll have our legal team investigate the transfer. Emily, we also need to secure your grandmother's original sketches.””
“They're at my house.””
“Then don't leave them unattended. If Vanessa believes the documents threaten her, she may try to retrieve them.””
I thought about the sketch she'd snatched from my table the previous day.
She hadn't wanted it thrown away.
She'd wanted it out of my hands.
I looked at Ethan.
“I need to go home.””
“I'll come with you.””
We arrived at the house shortly after noon.
Vanessa's car was parked in the driveway.
That alone made my stomach tighten.
When I opened the front door, I heard drawers slamming upstairs.
I ran toward my bedroom.
Vanessa stood beside my sewing table, holding the wooden box that contained my grandmother's old buttons and beads. Papers were scattered across the floor. One drawer had been pulled completely out.
“What are you doing?”” I demanded.
She turned, startled, then immediately composed herself.
“Looking for something.””
“My things?””
“Family property.””
I stepped into the room.
“Grandma left that box to me.””
“Your grandmother left a lot of things. Some of them belong to the estate.””
“Then why are you searching my bedroom?””
Her eyes flashed.
“Because you have no idea what you're dealing with.””
Ethan appeared behind me.
“Vanessa, put the box down.””
She clutched it against her chest.
“Stay out of this.””
“No,” I said.
“You don't get to come into my room, search through my belongings, and pretend you're doing me a favor.””
She stared at me for several seconds.
Then she placed the box on the table with a sharp thud.
“Fine. Keep your little trinkets.””
I glanced at the open drawer.
The envelope was gone.
My blood ran cold.
“Where's the letter?””
“What letter?””
“The letter Grandma left me.””
Vanessa shrugged.
“Perhaps you misplaced it.””
I stepped toward her.
“You took it.””
“Prove it.””
The words came out smoothly, confidently. They were the same words she'd used whenever she knew she'd crossed a line but believed I couldn't make anyone hold her accountable.
This time, I didn't shout.
I pulled out my phone.
“The security camera in my sewing room recorded you entering.””
Vanessa's face changed.
“There is no camera in here.””
“There is now.””
It was a lie.
The old camera had been installed months earlier after several pieces of jewelry disappeared from my bedroom. I'd never told Vanessa about it.
I watched her calculate her next move.
Then she smiled.
“Emily, you're becoming paranoid.””
“Leave.””
“This is my house.””
“Then explain to the police why you're stealing documents from my room.””
For a moment, I thought she might slap me.
Instead, she grabbed her handbag.
“You'll regret this.””
She brushed past Ethan and stormed downstairs.
A few seconds later, the front door slammed.
I hurried to the sewing table and opened the wooden box.
Everything appeared untouched, but my grandmother's folded pattern was missing.
The Violet Hour sketch.
I closed my eyes.
Vanessa hadn't come for the jewelry or the old buttons.
She'd come for the design that could connect her to the stolen collection.
Ethan touched my shoulder.
“We'll get it back.””
I shook my head.
“She's hiding something else. She wouldn't risk coming here if the sketch were the only thing that mattered.””
I crouched beside the sewing table and examined the empty drawer.
Then I noticed a narrow strip of paper caught beneath the wooden frame.
I pulled it free.
It was part of an old envelope, yellowed with age. My grandmother's handwriting appeared across the front.
For Emily — to be opened only if the original collection is threatened.
My breath caught.
I turned the envelope fragment over.
A small number had been written in blue ink.
*417.*
“Ethan?””
He crouched beside me.
“What is it?””
I showed him the paper.
He studied it.
“Could be a file number. A locker. A safe deposit box.””
“Grandma never mentioned a safe deposit box.””
“Maybe she didn't want anyone to know it existed.””
I searched the drawer again, lifting the wooden lining at the bottom. One corner shifted beneath my fingers.
I pressed it.
A thin panel popped loose.
Beneath it lay a tiny brass key and another folded note.
My hands trembled as I opened it.
If Vanessa has found the Violet Hour, then Daniel has already returned.
I read the sentence twice.
Ethan leaned closer.
“Emily, look at the date.””
At the bottom of the note was a date written in my grandmother's hand.
It was dated four months before she died.
I stared at the words.
Daniel had returned while my grandmother was still alive.
She had known.
And she'd left me a warning.
I unfolded the note completely.
Trust Catherine. Do not trust anyone who claims to speak for Daniel. The key opens box 417 at the old Peachtree station. Inside is the evidence your father never found.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
“Peachtree station?”” Ethan asked.
“The old railway station downtown. Grandma used to take me there when I was little.””
He looked at the key.
“Then that's where we need to go.””
I slipped the key into my pocket and called Catherine.
She answered on the second ring.
“Emily? Is everything all right?””
“No. Vanessa came to my house looking for Grandma's papers. I found a note.””
I heard Catherine inhale sharply.
“What does it say?””
I read the message aloud.
For several seconds, there was silence.
Then Catherine whispered, “Oh, Eleanor.””
“You knew about the station?””
“I knew your grandmother kept a private archive somewhere, but she never told me where. She said it contained information that could destroy more than one life.””
“Do you know anything about Daniel returning?””
“No. But if Eleanor wrote that warning, she must have had a reason.””
I looked at Ethan.
“We're going to the station.””
“Wait,” Catherine said.
“Don't go alone. I'll meet you there with our attorney.””
The old Peachtree station had been converted into a collection of small shops and offices. Its original brick walls remained, but the railway platforms had long since disappeared beneath modern construction.
We arrived shortly after three.
Catherine met us near the entrance with a gray-haired attorney named Michael Grant. He carried a leather briefcase and examined the brass key without touching it.
“Box 417,” he murmured.
“There used to be private storage lockers in the basement.””
We followed him down a narrow staircase into a dim corridor lined with old metal doors.
The air smelled of dust and damp concrete.
At the end of the corridor stood a row of numbered boxes.
I found 417.
The key slid into the lock.
For a moment, it wouldn't turn.
Then something clicked.
I opened the door.
Inside lay a thick envelope, a small cassette recorder, several photographs, and a leather-bound notebook.
I lifted the photographs first.
One showed my grandmother standing beside Daniel outside the original studio.
Another showed Vanessa handing a folder to a man whose face had been partially obscured.
The third photograph made my hands go numb.
It showed my father standing outside a hospital, holding a newspaper.
On the back, my grandmother had written:
The day Richard learned the truth.
Richard was my father.
Catherine took the notebook and opened it carefully.
Her eyes moved across the first page.
Then she stopped breathing for a moment.
“Michael,” she whispered.
“You need to see this.””
He leaned over her shoulder.
I watched their expressions change.
“What is it?”” I demanded.
Catherine turned the notebook toward me.
My grandmother had recorded dates, payments, and the names of people involved in the transfer of her designs.
Several entries mentioned Vanessa.
Others mentioned Daniel.
And the final entry was dated just two days before Eleanor died.
Daniel came to see me tonight. He says he wants to make things right. I told him the only way to do that is to tell Richard what really happened.
Beneath the entry was a final sentence.
If anything happens to me, the person who signed the transfer documents is not the person who planned the theft.
I stared at the page.
“Then who planned it?””
Catherine turned to the next sheet.
It had been torn almost completely out of the notebook.
Only the first line remained.
The person responsible is someone Richard trusts more than anyone else.
My stomach dropped.
Ethan slowly looked at me.
Catherine's face had gone white.
Then Michael's phone rang.
He listened for several seconds before his expression hardened.
When he ended the call, he looked directly at me.
“Emily, the company has just received a formal demand from a lawyer claiming to represent Daniel Whitmore.””
“Where is he?””
Michael hesitated.
“The lawyer says Daniel is alive, and he wants to meet you tonight.””
I looked down at the photographs, at the torn page, and at my grandmother's final warning.
May you like
Then Michael added the words that made my blood run cold.
“He also claims that your father knew who stole the collection—and helped cover it up.””
