Chapter 4 — The Lawyer’s Warning
Chapter 4 — The Lawyer’s Warning
The gunshot shattered the library.
For one terrible second, nobody moved.
Then Margaret screamed.
Daniel grabbed my arm and pulled me behind the heavy oak desk.
“Get down!”
Another sound followed.
Not a gunshot.
Glass breaking.
The chandelier flickered once before the emergency lights came on.
Red light washed across the library.
I looked at Daniel.
“Who fired?”
“I don't know.”
“Where?”
“Outside.”
Detective Collins, who had arrived minutes earlier after tracing the bank records, rushed into the room with two officers.
“Everyone stay down!”
The officers moved toward the windows.
One of them shouted:
“Shooter's gone!”
I barely heard him.
My eyes were fixed on the envelope lying on the table.
FOR MARIA ONLY.
FROM AMELIA.
The envelope was still there.
Untouched.
Daniel noticed it too.
“Don't open it.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because if Amelia wrote this, she may have known someone would come after it.”
“That doesn't answer my question.”
“It means it could be a trap.”
Detective Collins stepped between us.
“He's right.”
She examined the envelope.
“No fingerprints on the outside.”
“How do you know?”
“Because someone wiped it.”
My stomach tightened.
“Then how did it get here?”
Nobody answered.
The bullet had shattered the window less than six feet from where the envelope lay.
Whoever fired had been close enough to see the table.
They weren't trying to kill us.
They were trying to scare us.
Or stop us from opening the letter.
Detective Collins carefully picked up the envelope with gloves.
“I'm taking this as evidence.”
“No.”
I stood.
“It was addressed to me.”
“And whoever sent it may have known you would say exactly that.”
She looked at me.
“I'll open it after it's processed.”
I nodded reluctantly.
Daniel stood.
Blood was still visible on his collar.
“Where did you find Amelia?”
He looked at me.
“She found me.”
“What does that mean?”
“I was driving back from the city.”
“And?”
“I saw someone following me.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Then how did you meet Amelia?”
Daniel hesitated.
“She called.”
My stomach tightened.
“From where?”
“An unknown number.”
“What did she say?”
“That I was asking the wrong questions.”
“Which questions?”
“About the trust.”
“And then?”
“She gave me an address.”
“What address?”
Daniel looked at Detective Collins.
“A law office.”
Her expression changed.
“Which one?”
“Reed & Associates.”
Nobody spoke.
I knew that name.
Jonathan Reed.
The lawyer from my father's letter.
The man who had written:
If you are reading this, Edward is dead and I failed to protect you.
I looked at Daniel.
“Take me there.”
“No.”
“Daniel.”
“You don't know what we're walking into.”
“I know my father trusted that lawyer.”
“And someone tried to kill him.”
I stepped closer.
“Exactly.”
Detective Collins interrupted.
“We're going together.”
The law office was forty minutes away.
The building stood at the end of a quiet street lined with old trees.
It was nearly midnight.
The sign on the front read:
REED & ASSOCIATES — PRIVATE ESTATES AND TRUST LAW
The front door was unlocked.
That was the first thing that frightened me.
The second was the silence.
Detective Collins drew her weapon.
“Stay behind me.”
We entered.
The reception desk was empty.
Papers covered the floor.
A chair had been overturned.
One of the office doors was open.
Daniel whispered:
“This wasn't like this when I was here.”
“When were you here?”
“Three hours ago.”
Detective Collins looked at him.
“You didn't mention that.”
“I didn't think it mattered.”
“It matters now.”
We moved down the hallway.
At the end was a glass door.
The name on it read:
JONATHAN REED
Detective Collins opened it.
The room was destroyed.
Books were scattered everywhere.
A filing cabinet had been forced open.
A computer screen was shattered.
And behind the desk...
someone was sitting.
I stopped breathing.
An elderly man sat motionless in the chair.
Blood covered his white shirt.
“Jonathan?”
Daniel moved forward.
Detective Collins stopped him.
“Don't touch him.”
She checked his pulse.
Then looked at us.
“He's alive.”
A paramedic was called.
Minutes later, Jonathan Reed was rushed out on a stretcher.
I stood in the hallway shaking.
He had been shot.
Because of me?
Because of the inheritance?
Because of my father?
Detective Collins came toward me.
“Maria.”
I looked at her.
“We found something.”
She held up a folder.
It had been hidden beneath the desk.
My name was written on it.
Inside was a photograph.
Me.
At age five.
I stared at it.
“How?”
Detective Collins turned the photograph over.
There was a date.
Twenty-three years ago.
I was standing outside my mother's apartment.
Someone had taken the picture from across the street.
On the back was a note.
She is safe. Keep watching.
I felt sick.
“Someone has been following me since I was a child.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
Daniel took the photograph.
His face changed.
“What?”
He pointed at the car visible in the background.
“That's Father's car.”
I stared.
Edward Harrington had died twenty-three years ago.
The same year the photograph was taken.
“Then he was alive when this was taken.”
Daniel shook his head.
“He died six months earlier.”
“Then whose car is it?”
Daniel's face went pale.
“My father's driver.”
I looked at him.
“Who was the driver?”
He whispered:
“Michael Vale.”
The name meant nothing to me.
But Detective Collins reacted immediately.
“Vale?”
Daniel nodded.
“My father's driver.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don't know.”
Detective Collins looked at the photograph again.
“He may be the key.”
Jonathan Reed regained consciousness two hours later.
The hospital room smelled like antiseptic.
He looked impossibly old beneath the fluorescent lights.
His eyes opened when I entered.
“Maria.”
I approached the bed.
“You know me.”
He smiled faintly.
“I've been waiting for you.”
“Why?”
“Because your father knew this day would come.”
I pulled a chair beside him.
“What happened to Edward?”
Jonathan looked toward the door.
“Is Daniel here?”
“Yes.”
“Don't let him inside.”
My heart stopped.
“Why?”
Jonathan's eyes moved back to me.
“Because your brother has been lied to.”
Daniel stood outside the glass.
I could see him watching us.
“What lie?”
Jonathan swallowed.
“The inheritance was never simply money.”
“What was it?”
“Protection.”
I frowned.
“For whom?”
“For you.”
He reached beneath his pillow.
His fingers trembled as he pulled out a small envelope.
“I kept this for twenty-three years.”
He handed it to me.
My name was written across the front.
Maria.
I opened it.
Inside was a letter.
This time I recognized the handwriting.
Edward.
My father.
I read:
My dearest daughter,
My vision blurred.
I had never seen those words before.
If Jonathan has finally given you this letter, then the people I feared have found you.
I looked at Jonathan.
He nodded.
I continued.
I wanted to tell the world you were my daughter. I wanted to bring you into this family. But there are people around me who will kill to control what I built.
My hands trembled.
The company is not what they want.
I frowned.
They want the Harrington Foundation.
I looked up.
“What is that?”
Jonathan closed his eyes.
“The real fortune.”
“How much?”
“More than the bank account.”
I couldn't breathe.
“How much more?”
Jonathan whispered:
“Hundreds of millions.”
The room seemed to disappear.
My father had hidden a fortune larger than anything I had imagined.
But why?
I read the letter again.
The Foundation owns land, companies, patents, and financial assets in seven countries. Whoever controls it controls the Harrington empire.
My hands went cold.
Then I reached the final paragraph.
I have placed control of the Foundation beyond the reach of my family.
Only one person can inherit it.
I looked at the bottom.
My name.
Maria Santos.
I stopped.
Jonathan watched me.
“You were the safeguard.”
“Against what?”
He hesitated.
“Against them.”
“Who?”
Jonathan's expression became frightened.
“The people who wanted your father dead.”
“Tell me.”
He shook his head.
“Not here.”
“Then where?”
“Room seventeen.”
My blood ran cold.
The hidden room.
The room where I had found his letter.
“What is Room 17?”
Jonathan stared at me.
“Your father built it beneath the Harrington estate.”
“I've already been there.”
His face changed.
“You opened it?”
“Yes.”
“Then they know.”
“Who?”
Jonathan gripped my wrist.
“Listen carefully.”
His voice dropped.
“Edward didn't create Room 17 to hide money.”
“Then what is it for?”
“To hide evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
Jonathan looked toward the door.
Daniel was standing there.
The lawyer's eyes filled with fear.
“Evidence that proves who killed Edward.”
I felt my heart pound.
“Who killed him?”
Jonathan's lips trembled.
“His own wife.”
The room went silent.
I stared at him.
“Margaret?”
Jonathan nodded.
“No.”
“She didn't act alone.”
“Who helped her?”
Jonathan closed his eyes.
“Vivian's mother.”
I felt dizzy.
“But Vivian wasn't even married to Daniel then.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because Vivian's mother wanted the Foundation.”
I looked toward the door.
Daniel was staring at me.
He had heard everything.
His face was completely white.
“Tell me you're lying,” he whispered.
Jonathan looked at him.
“I wish I were.”
Daniel stepped inside.
“You're accusing my mother of murdering my father?”
Jonathan shook his head.
“Your mother helped cover it up.”
Daniel looked at me.
“And Vivian's mother?”
“Planned it.”
Daniel backed away.
“No.”
I stood.
“Daniel…”
He shook his head.
“No.”
Then his phone rang.
Everyone froze.
He looked at the screen.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Hello?”
A woman's voice came through.
I couldn't hear every word.
But I heard enough.
“You should have left the girl alone.”
Daniel's face changed.
“Who is this?”
The woman laughed.
“Ask your sister what she found in Room 17.”
Daniel looked at me.
Then the call ended.
Detective Collins immediately took the phone.
“We can trace it.”
Jonathan suddenly grabbed my arm.
“Maria.”
I looked at him.
“There is one more thing.”
“What?”
“Your father had another lawyer.”
“Who?”
Jonathan hesitated.
Then whispered:
“Your mother.”
I stared at him.
“My mother wasn't a lawyer.”
“No.”
He swallowed.
“She was the person who knew where every secret document was hidden.”
I couldn't speak.
“My mother?”
Jonathan nodded.
“Before she died, she gave me something.”
“What?”
He pointed toward a locked cabinet.
“Open it.”
Inside was a small leather case.
I opened it.
There was a key.
A photograph.
And a folded document.
I opened the document.
It was a property deed.
The owner was:
Maria Santos.
The property address was unfamiliar.
I looked at Jonathan.
“What is this?”
“The place your mother bought for you.”
“She never owned property.”
“She did.”
“When?”
“Three weeks before she died.”
I stared at the deed.
The date was circled in red.
Then I saw the location.
My heart stopped.
It was an address in another city.
And beside it was one handwritten sentence:
If anything happens to me, go there before the Harringtons do.
I looked at Jonathan.
“Why?”
He gave me the saddest smile I had ever seen.
“Because your mother knew someone was coming for you.”
We left the hospital before dawn.
Detective Collins drove.
Daniel sat beside me in the back.
For the first time since discovering we were siblings, neither of us knew what to say.
Finally he whispered:
“I'm sorry.”
I looked at him.
“For what?”
“For not knowing.”
I looked out the window.
“You didn't know.”
“No.”
He paused.
“But I knew something was wrong.”
I turned toward him.
“What?”
“Vivian.”
He looked down.
“She has been asking questions about you for years.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Where you lived.”
“Who your family was.”
“Whether your mother left anything behind.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I thought she was jealous.”
“Of me?”
“She didn't like how much my mother trusted you.”
I stared at him.
“Your mother knew I was her husband's daughter.”
“Yes.”
“And you never knew?”
“No.”
“Until now?”
“Yes.”
The car became silent.
Then Daniel said:
“I should have protected you.”
I didn't answer.
Because I wasn't sure he could.
Not yet.
We arrived at the property just after sunrise.
It was an old cottage hidden beyond a line of pine trees.
No mansion.
No gates.
No guards.
Just a small house surrounded by overgrown grass.
I stepped out of the car.
My mother's house.
The house I had never known existed.
The key from Jonathan fit the front door.
I opened it.
Dust filled the air.
Everything inside looked untouched.
Photographs.
Books.
A sewing machine.
My mother's old coat.
I walked into the living room.
There was a photograph on the mantel.
My mother holding me as a child.
Behind us stood Edward Harrington.
But this time, he wasn't smiling.
He was looking toward something outside the frame.
I picked up the photograph.
On the back was a message.
Maria, if you're seeing this, then I failed.
My eyes filled with tears.
Below it:
Don't trust the lawyer who gives you this key.
I froze.
I looked at the key.
Then at Jonathan's photograph.
A terrible thought entered my mind.
I turned toward Daniel.
“Who else knew about this house?”
He shook his head.
“No one.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman's voice whispered:
“Your mother wasn't the person you think she was.”
“Who are you?”
“You're looking in the wrong house.”
“What does that mean?”
“Look beneath the floor.”
The line went dead.
I looked down.
The old wooden floorboards beneath my feet suddenly seemed very different.
Detective Collins noticed my expression.
“What did she say?”
I swallowed.
“She told me to look beneath the floor.”
Daniel crouched.
He tapped the boards.
One sounded hollow.
Then another.
He looked at me.
“Maria…”
We pried up the board.
Beneath it was a metal box.
Inside was a passport.
A bank key.
Several photographs.
And a second birth certificate.
I picked it up.
My hands froze.
It wasn't mine.
It belonged to a girl named:
Amelia Harrington.
But the photograph attached to the document showed someone I had seen before.
Someone I knew.
Someone who had been standing inside the Harrington mansion the night I was framed.
I stared at the photograph.
My voice barely escaped.
“She's been here the entire time.”
Daniel looked at me.
“Who?”
I raised the birth certificate.
“Amelia.”
And suddenly I understood why everyone had been so afraid.
The missing daughter wasn't missing at all.
She had been living among us.
Watching us.
Waiting for the right moment.
And if the look in the photograph was any indication...
May you like
she had been waiting for me.
To be continued.
