Chapter 7 – The Son Who Chose Money
Chapter 7 – The Son Who Chose Money
The words echoed through the library like a final verdict.
"James Holloway is gone."
Daniel stared at Detective Cross.
"Search the entire estate."
Cross was already speaking into his radio.
"Seal every gate."
"No vehicle leaves the property."
"Check the gardens, the guest house, the chapel, every service tunnel."
Within seconds, officers spread across Ashford Manor.
Outside, blue emergency lights painted the rain-soaked mansion in flashes of red and blue.
But Daniel already feared they were too late.
James Holloway's leather briefcase still rested on the ballroom table.
Exactly where he had left it.
The old lawyer had vanished without his coat.
Without his phone.
Without even taking the evidence he had brought.
Cross examined the room carefully.
"No signs of struggle."
Daniel frowned.
"He walked away."
"Or someone wanted us to think he did."
Victoria stood near the fireplace, arms folded.
"You've wasted enough time chasing ghosts."
Daniel turned toward her.
"Funny."
"You don't seem surprised."
She shrugged.
"Old men leave."
"It happens."
Cross stepped closer.
"Mrs. Harrington."
"I'll need you to remain available."
"For what?"
"Questioning."
Her smile faded.
"Am I a suspect now?"
Cross answered calmly.
"At this point..."
"Everyone is."
Meanwhile, Martha quietly wheeled Evelyn back toward the hidden study behind the portrait.
Daniel followed.
The old room suddenly felt different.
Not like a forgotten office.
But like a battlefield.
Every ledger.
Every photograph.
Every hidden compartment revealed another wound inside the Ashford family.
Evelyn ran her fingers across Charles Ashford's old desk.
"He loved this room."
Daniel looked around.
"I barely remember Grandfather."
"You were only six when he died."
She smiled faintly.
"But he adored you."
Daniel noticed an old chessboard still sitting on a side table.
The pieces remained exactly where they had been left.
Mid-game.
Charles always played black.
Richard always played white.
Daniel remembered watching them as a child.
His grandfather rarely won quickly.
He preferred patience.
Planning.
Thinking several moves ahead.
Evelyn looked at the board.
"He never finished this game."
Daniel stared at it.
Neither had Richard.
It remained unfinished for twenty-six years.
Like everything else in the family.
Cross entered moments later.
"No sign of Holloway."
He placed several photographs on the desk.
"We searched his office downtown."
Daniel frowned.
"You already had a warrant?"
"No."
"We requested one after finding your note."
He pointed to the childish drawing marked J.H.
"The judge approved it within the hour."
"What did you find?"
Cross spread out the photographs.
James Holloway's office looked ordinary.
Books.
Legal files.
Awards.
Family photographs.
Nothing suspicious.
Until the final picture.
A hidden safe.
Inside...
Only empty shelves.
Someone had cleared it out.
Recently.
Daniel leaned closer.
"Anything else?"
Cross nodded.
"We recovered surveillance footage from the building."
"And?"
"James didn't leave alone."
The detective handed Daniel another photograph.
It showed Holloway exiting through the rear entrance.
Beside him walked a tall man wearing a gray overcoat.
His face remained hidden beneath an umbrella.
But one detail was perfectly visible.
Gold lion-shaped cufflinks.
The same cufflinks from the photograph of Evelyn's fall.
Daniel felt his pulse quicken.
"Sebastian Blackwell."
Cross nodded slowly.
"Assuming he's still alive."
Evelyn stared at the photograph.
"I'd know those cufflinks anywhere."
"They belonged to Charles's personal adviser."
"What kind of adviser?"
Daniel asked.
She answered bitterly.
"The kind who always knew where the money was."
At that moment, another officer hurried into the study.
"Detective!"
Cross turned.
"What is it?"
"We found something in Mr. Holloway's briefcase."
"I thought it was empty."
"So did we."
The officer carefully removed the briefcase.
Inside the lining...
A hidden zipper.
Within it lay a small flash drive.
Cross held it up.
"No labels."
Daniel looked toward Evelyn.
She whispered,
"Charles hated computers."
"So why would James hide this?"
Minutes later, technicians connected the flash drive to a secure police laptop.
A single folder appeared.
PRIVATE
Inside were dozens of scanned documents.
Bank records.
Property deeds.
Wire transfers.
Corporate contracts.
Every file carried one familiar signature.
Richard Ashford.
Daniel frowned.
"My father signed all of these."
Cross kept scrolling.
Then he stopped.
One transfer stood out.
Recipient: Blackwell Consulting.
Amount: $18,500,000.
Purpose: Estate restructuring.
The date...
Three days after Charles Ashford's funeral.
"No..."
Daniel whispered.
"My father paid him."
Evelyn slowly shook her head.
"Look again."
Daniel examined the document more closely.
His eyes widened.
The signature looked wrong.
Very wrong.
It resembled Richard's handwriting.
But certain letters were different.
Cross nodded.
"I noticed that too."
He compared it with Richard's signature on another contract.
"They don't match."
"You think it's forged?"
"I think someone wanted it to look genuine."
Daniel suddenly remembered something.
"When I was a teenager..."
"My father refused to sign documents."
Cross looked up.
"What do you mean?"
"He always signed everything by hand."
"He never let assistants prepare signature pages."
"People called him paranoid."
Evelyn smiled sadly.
"He wasn't paranoid."
"He knew someone had copied his signature before."
The room grew quiet.
Perhaps Richard Ashford had not been stealing money.
Perhaps someone had been using his name.
For years.
Daniel walked to the rain-covered window.
Every new answer created two new questions.
His grandmother said Richard pushed her.
The photograph suggested another hand.
The bank transfers carried forged signatures.
Richard had visited Evelyn in secret.
Had cried outside her window.
Had said he was tired of lying.
Who was Richard Ashford?
A villain?
A coward?
Or another victim?
Evelyn broke the silence.
"When Richard was twenty-five..."
"He wasn't interested in money."
Daniel looked back.
"He wasn't?"
"He wanted to become a history teacher."
Daniel almost laughed.
"My father?"
She nodded.
"He loved books."
"He hated board meetings."
"So why did he take over Ashford Industries?"
Evelyn's eyes filled with sorrow.
"Because someone convinced him family duty mattered more than happiness."
Martha quietly added,
"Everything changed after Charles became ill."
"Richard stopped smiling."
"He stopped painting."
"He stopped playing piano."
Daniel frowned.
"My father painted?"
"He was very talented."
Martha smiled faintly.
"He burned every canvas after your grandfather died."
Cross looked up from the laptop.
"Detective Morales just called."
"What happened?"
"They searched Richard Ashford's private storage warehouse."
Daniel's heart skipped.
"And?"
"They found an old painting."
An hour later, the group stood inside a climate-controlled storage room across town.
Hundreds of wooden crates lined the walls.
Most contained antique furniture.
Others held family heirlooms.
In the center of the room rested a large canvas covered by a white sheet.
An evidence technician carefully removed the cloth.
Everyone froze.
It was a portrait Richard had painted himself.
Not of Ashford Manor.
Not of Charles.
Not of wealth.
It showed Evelyn sitting in the mansion garden, smiling as young Daniel placed a flower crown on her head.
At the bottom, in faded paint, Richard had written:
The Only Home I Ever Wanted.
Daniel felt tears well in his eyes.
This wasn't the work of a man who hated his mother.
It was the work of a son who had once loved her deeply.
Cross stepped closer to inspect the back of the canvas.
His flashlight caught something unusual.
"There are papers hidden inside the frame."
The technicians carefully removed the backing.
Folded between the wood and the canvas was a sealed envelope.
Across the front, in Richard Ashford's unmistakable handwriting, were seven words that changed everything once again:
May you like
Daniel, forgive me before you judge me.
End of Chapter 7
