CHAPTER 9 — THE CHILD IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
CHAPTER 9 — THE CHILD IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
Jonathan's gun remained pointed at Richard.
For several seconds, no one moved.
The chapel was so silent that Claire could hear the faint tremor in Richard's breathing.
Eleanor stood beside the altar with the same calm smile.
Jonathan looked terrified.
Not angry.
Not triumphant.
Terrified.
Claire slowly moved between the gun and Richard.
“Jonathan.”
“Don't.”
His voice cracked.
“Don't make me do this.”
“You're not going to shoot him.”
“You don't know what I'm capable of.”
“I know exactly what you're capable of.”
Claire's eyes remained fixed on him.
“You've spent fifteen years pretending to protect this family.”
Jonathan swallowed.
“And now you're pointing a gun at the person you've supposedly been protecting.”
His hand shook.
“I was told I had no choice.”
“Who told you?”
Jonathan didn't answer.
Eleanor smiled.
“Ask him about the photograph.”
Richard looked at her.
“What photograph?”
Eleanor's smile widened.
“The one that started everything.”
Jonathan slowly lowered the gun.
Not completely.
Just enough.
Claire noticed.
“Where is it?”
Jonathan looked toward the old stone wall.
“Behind the altar.”
Richard walked toward it.
Jonathan immediately raised the gun again.
“Stop.”
Richard froze.
“Why?”
“Because once you see it, there's no going back.”
Richard laughed bitterly.
“There hasn't been a way back since I was born.”
Jonathan closed his eyes.
Then whispered:
“Look.”
Richard moved toward the altar.
Behind it was a narrow compartment.
Inside sat an old wooden box.
The same kind used throughout the Blackwood estate.
Richard opened it.
There was only one item inside.
A photograph.
He lifted it.
His hands began to shake.
It showed a family standing outside a large house.
Elias.
Eleanor.
Adrian.
Margaret.
Daniel.
Thomas.
And two children.
Richard stared.
One was a little boy.
The other was a little girl.
The boy was perhaps four years old.
The girl was an infant.
Claire stepped closer.
“Who are they?”
Richard looked at the boy.
His heart began pounding.
The child's eyes were unmistakable.
They were his.
He turned the photograph over.
Written on the back were two names.
Thomas's son — Richard.
Thomas's daughter — Lily.
Claire stared.
“Lily.”
Richard's face went pale.
“The girl in the basement.”
Jonathan nodded.
“Yes.”
“But Lily is only eight.”
“She was born later.”
Richard looked confused.
“Then why is she in a photograph from fifteen years ago?”
No one answered.
Eleanor's smile disappeared.
That was the first time Claire saw genuine fear in her eyes.
Richard turned toward her.
“You know.”
Eleanor said nothing.
“You know who that child is.”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me.”
Eleanor looked at the photograph.
“That girl isn't Lily.”
Richard froze.
Claire felt a chill.
“Then who is she?”
Eleanor's voice became barely audible.
“Your sister.”
Richard shook his head.
“Clara is my sister.”
“Clara is one of your sisters.”
Silence.
Richard stared at her.
“One of?”
Eleanor nodded.
“You have three sisters.”
Claire felt her stomach drop.
“Three?”
Eleanor looked directly at Richard.
“Clara.”
“Lily.”
“And the child in this photograph.”
Richard's fingers tightened around the photograph.
“Where is she?”
Eleanor didn't answer.
Richard stepped forward.
“Where is my sister?”
Eleanor whispered:
“Dead.”
The word hung in the chapel.
Richard stared at her.
“No.”
“She died fifteen years ago.”
“How?”
Eleanor looked toward Jonathan.
Jonathan lowered his head.
“Tell him,” she said.
Jonathan swallowed.
“She was taken.”
“By whom?”
“Elias.”
“Why?”
“Because she was the first child who could prove Thomas was alive.”
Richard stared.
“But she was a baby.”
“Exactly.”
Jonathan looked at the photograph.
“She had the Blackwood birthmark.”
Richard frowned.
“What birthmark?”
Jonathan pointed to the baby's wrist.
A dark crescent-shaped mark.
Richard looked at his own wrist.
The same mark.
Claire noticed.
Her breath caught.
“Richard…”
He slowly pulled back his sleeve.
There it was.
The same crescent.
Jonathan nodded.
“That mark identifies the original bloodline.”
Eleanor's face became cold.
“It was supposed to disappear with her.”
Richard stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
“She wasn't merely Thomas's daughter.”
Eleanor looked directly at him.
“She was the legal heir.”
Richard's expression changed.
“Then why am I called the last heir?”
“Because they believed she was dead.”
“Who killed her?”
Eleanor's eyes lowered.
“I did.”
Claire stepped forward.
“You killed a baby?”
Eleanor's face remained emotionless.
“I did what was necessary.”
Richard's voice became cold.
“You murdered my sister.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Thomas would never surrender the inheritance while she was alive.”
Richard moved toward her.
Claire grabbed his arm.
“Richard.”
He stopped.
His entire body was shaking.
Eleanor looked at him.
“You want revenge.”
“No.”
Richard's voice was strangely calm.
“I want the truth.”
Eleanor laughed softly.
“The truth will hurt more.”
Jonathan walked toward the altar.
“There is more.”
Richard turned.
“What?”
Jonathan pulled another photograph from inside his coat.
He handed it to Claire.
She looked down.
Her face went white.
The photograph showed the same baby.
But this time, she was older.
Maybe three years old.
She was standing beside a woman.
The woman was Elena.
Claire stared.
“She's alive.”
Richard took the photograph.
“When was this taken?”
Jonathan answered:
“Three years after the official death.”
Richard's eyes widened.
“So she wasn't killed.”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
Jonathan looked at Eleanor.
“She was hidden.”
“Where?”
Eleanor smiled.
“Somewhere no one would ever think to look.”
Richard stared.
“Where?”
Eleanor said nothing.
Claire suddenly understood.
“The basement.”
Eleanor nodded.
“The child was kept beneath the house.”
Richard's stomach twisted.
“You kept my sister underground?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Until she became useful.”
“What does that mean?”
Eleanor looked toward the chapel floor.
“She was trained.”
“For what?”
“To inherit.”
Richard's face hardened.
“You trained a child to control the empire?”
“She was born for it.”
“She was a child.”
“She was a Blackwood.”
Eleanor's voice became cold.
“That was enough.”
Richard looked at Jonathan.
“Where is she now?”
Jonathan hesitated.
“She's alive.”
Richard's heart stopped.
“What?”
“She escaped.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
Eleanor interrupted.
“She knows.”
Everyone looked at her.
Eleanor smiled.
“Your sister knows exactly where she is.”
Richard stepped closer.
“Who?”
Eleanor reached into her pocket.
She pulled out a small silver locket.
She opened it.
Inside was a tiny photograph.
A girl.
Older now.
Perhaps seventeen.
Richard stared.
His breathing stopped.
The girl's face looked familiar.
Not like Clara.
Not like Lily.
Like him.
Claire whispered:
“She looks like you.”
Richard nodded.
Eleanor closed the locket.
“Her name is Isabelle.”
Richard repeated the name.
“Isabelle.”
Eleanor nodded.
“She is your youngest sister.”
Richard looked at Jonathan.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“And you hid her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she asked me to.”
Richard frowned.
“She trusts you?”
Jonathan shook his head.
“No.”
“She hates me.”
“Why?”
“Because she believes you replaced her.”
Richard stared.
“I didn't even know she existed.”
“She knows.”
“How?”
Jonathan looked at the photograph.
“Because someone told her.”
“Who?”
Jonathan's eyes shifted toward Eleanor.
“Her.”
Eleanor smiled.
“She needed someone to blame.”
Richard clenched his fists.
“And you chose me.”
“I chose the person who could survive it.”
Claire stepped forward.
“You manipulated an entire family.”
Eleanor's smile vanished.
“You have no idea what this family required.”
“Then explain.”
Eleanor looked at Claire.
“You want to know why I smiled?”
Claire said nothing.
“I smiled because crying never saved anyone.”
Eleanor's voice became quieter.
“When I was twenty, I watched my husband murder his own brother.”
Adrian.
Claire understood.
“Elias killed Adrian?”
Eleanor nodded.
“He didn't.”
“What?”
“Adrian survived.”
Eleanor looked toward Richard.
“Everyone survived.”
“Then why did they disappear?”
“Because Elias made them disappear.”
Richard stared.
“And you?”
“I learned to survive.”
She touched her face.
“I smiled.”
A loud crash came from outside.
Everyone turned.
Then another.
Jonathan raised his weapon.
“They found us.”
“Who?”
“The Blackwood security team.”
Claire's heart raced.
“How many?”
“Too many.”
Eleanor looked toward the hidden passage.
“Take Richard.”
Jonathan frowned.
“Why?”
“Because he's the one they want.”
Richard shook his head.
“No.”
Eleanor looked at him.
“You don't understand.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“No.”
Her voice became sharp.
“You are not being hunted because of the inheritance.”
“Then why?”
“Because you are the only person who can activate it.”
Richard froze.
“Activate what?”
“The original Blackwood trust.”
Jonathan looked shocked.
“You told him?”
Eleanor smiled.
“He was going to discover it anyway.”
Claire looked at Richard.
“What trust?”
Eleanor answered:
“A fortune hidden outside every bank, every company, every government registry.”
Richard stared.
“How much?”
“Enough to make every person in this family kill for it.”
Claire felt cold.
“Where is it?”
Eleanor looked at Richard.
“Inside you.”
Richard frowned.
“That makes no sense.”
“It does when you know the truth.”
She pointed toward his wrist.
“The mark.”
Richard looked at it.
“It isn't a birthmark.”
“Then what is it?”
“A key.”
The chapel doors exploded inward.
Men in black rushed inside.
Jonathan fired.
Everyone scattered.
Claire grabbed Richard's hand.
“Move!”
They ran toward the hidden passage.
Eleanor remained behind.
Richard looked back.
“Eleanor!”
She didn't move.
“Come with us!”
She smiled.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because someone needs to stay.”
Gunfire echoed.
Eleanor looked directly at Richard.
“Find Isabelle.”
Richard stopped.
“Why?”
“Because she has the second half of the key.”
Then Eleanor was swallowed by smoke.
Claire pulled Richard down the stairs.
They ran through the underground passage.
Behind them, Jonathan followed.
Loud footsteps echoed.
Then a voice came through the darkness.
“Richard!”
He stopped.
It was a woman's voice.
Young.
Furious.
Familiar.
“Richard!”
Claire turned.
A girl stood at the end of the corridor.
Seventeen.
Dark hair.
Pale face.
The same eyes.
The same crescent mark on her wrist.
Richard stared.
“Isabelle?”
She raised a gun.
“Yes.”
Richard stopped.
She pointed directly at him.
“You destroyed my life.”
“I didn't know you existed.”
“You took everything.”
“I didn't.”
“You were given my inheritance.”
“I never asked for it.”
She laughed bitterly.
“You still have it.”
“No.”
“You will.”
“Isabelle…”
She pulled back the hammer.
“Don't call me that.”
Richard stared into the eyes of the sister he had never known.
“I don't want your inheritance.”
She shook her head.
“You don't understand.”
“What?”
“You already activated it.”
Richard's face went pale.
“How?”
Isabelle pointed toward his wrist.
“The moment you found the photograph.”
Behind them, the passage began to shake.
A hidden mechanism clicked.
Stone walls shifted.
A massive door opened beneath the floor.
Golden light spilled into the corridor.
Claire stared.
“What is that?”
Isabelle whispered:
“The Blackwood vault.”
Richard looked inside.
Rows of documents.
Gold.
Old paintings.
Boxes of jewels.
But in the center stood something else.
A single chair.
And on it sat a man.
Older.
Scarred.
Alive.
Richard stopped breathing.
The man slowly raised his head.
Claire recognized him from the photograph.
Thomas.
But Thomas was supposed to be outside.
Richard turned toward the person beside him.
The man smiled.
It wasn't Thomas.
It was someone else.
Someone whose face Richard had seen his entire life.
The man who had raised him.
Daniel.
Richard's blood ran cold.
“Dad?”
Daniel looked at him.
Then smiled.
And said:
“You finally found the room where I buried the truth.”
Richard stared.
Daniel slowly stood.
“I owe you an apology.”
Claire stepped forward.
“Daniel, what is this?”
He looked at her.
“The first lie was that I was protecting Richard.”
His eyes moved toward Richard.
“The truth is…”
He paused.
“I was protecting myself.”
The vault doors slammed shut behind them.
May you like
And in the darkness, Isabelle whispered:
“Now you finally know who betrayed your father.”
