Chapter 6: The Invitation to My Own Execution
I stared at Vanessa's message until the screen dimmed.
The photograph showed the silver panel spread across a black table. A pair of scissors lay beside it, their blades stained with something dark.
I couldn't tell whether it was ink, rust, or blood.
The panel had been cut open.
The concealed seam was exposed.
And the evidence my mother had spent her final days trying to preserve might already be destroyed.
I typed a reply.
*What did you do?*
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Another message arrived.
Midnight. Back entrance of the showcase venue. Come alone.
I looked toward my father's study.
The door remained locked.
Somewhere upstairs, Vanessa laughed at something on her phone.
My family was falling apart around a secret they had all known about except me.
And now my stepsister wanted to meet me in the dark.
I should have called Isabelle immediately.
Instead, I took a screenshot, forwarded it to a private email account, and slipped my phone into my pocket.
I had learned something during the past forty-eight hours.
Every time I asked my family for the truth, they gave me another reason to doubt myself.
This time, I would gather evidence before asking another question.
At eleven thirty, I left the townhouse through the side entrance.
The city smelled of wet pavement and exhaust. A cold wind swept between the buildings, tugging at my coat as I walked toward the subway station.
I had told Mr. Alvarez where I was going. He had insisted on driving me, but I refused. I didn't want anyone connected to Bellamy House following me.
I also sent Isabelle a message.
*Vanessa wants to meet me at the showcase venue at midnight. She has the silver panel. I'm going to find out why.*
Her response came almost immediately.
*Do not go alone. Call me now.*
I stopped beneath a streetlamp.
Before I could answer, my phone rang.
Isabelle's name flashed on the screen.
I accepted the call.
“Eleanor, listen to me,” she said.
“You must not meet Vanessa without someone present.””
“She says she knows what happened to my mother.””
“That's precisely why I'm worried.””
“What if she destroys the panel?””
“Then we find another way.””
I looked at the photograph again.
The cut seam was unmistakable.
“Isabelle, if that panel contains the names of everyone involved, we can't afford to lose it.””
“I'm arranging for a security team to accompany us.””
“Us?””
“Yes. I'm coming with you.””
I hesitated.
“I thought you didn't trust me to handle this.””
“I trust you. I don't trust the people who have spent twenty-two years manipulating you.””
Her voice softened.
“Please, Eleanor. Don't make the mistake of believing that courage requires you to stand alone.””
I closed my eyes.
For a moment, I was four years old again, sitting on the edge of my mother's bed while she brushed my hair.
She used to tell me that bravery wasn't the absence of fear.
It was the decision to keep moving when fear tried to make your choices for you.
“I'll wait for you,” I said.
“Good. Stay somewhere public.””
The call ended.
I turned toward a nearby café, but before I could take a step, another message appeared on my phone.
This one came from an unknown number.
It contained a single photograph.
My father stood outside the showcase venue, speaking to a man whose face was hidden by the collar of his coat.
The timestamp read 11:42 p.m.
Beneath the photograph was a message.
Your father isn't trying to stop Vanessa.
He's trying to make sure she finishes what Celeste started.
I stared at the screen.
Then I zoomed in on the photograph.
The man standing beside my father wore a gold ring shaped like a small star.
The same ring I had seen in my mother's old photograph.
The same symbol embroidered into the silver constellations of my dress.
I called Isabelle again.
She answered immediately.
“Eleanor?””
“Who else knew about the silver panel?””
“Besides Grace? Thomas, me, Richard, and the lawyer who drafted the ownership agreement.””
“Was there anyone else?””
She went silent.
Then she said, “One person.””
“Who?””
“Thomas's business partner. A man named Adrian Cross.””
I searched the name.
Adrian Cross had been a prominent investment banker in New York until he disappeared from public life twenty-two years earlier. His company had collapsed shortly after Thomas Bellamy's death. No obituary, no public explanation, no recent photographs.
“Why would he be involved?””
“Because he financed the original collection. If the ownership agreement is genuine, he stands to lose a great deal of money.””
I looked at the photograph again.
“Does he wear a gold ring with a star?””
Isabelle inhaled sharply.
“Yes.””
My skin prickled.
“Then I think he's here.””
“Where?””
I sent her the photograph.
A few seconds passed.
Then she spoke in a voice I had never heard from her before.
“Eleanor, get away from that venue. Now.””
I turned.
Across the street, a black sedan sat with its headlights off.
The rear window lowered.
A man watched me from the darkness.
Even from a distance, I recognized the gold star on his hand.
I ran.
I crossed the street against the light, dodging a taxi that blared its horn. My shoes slipped on the wet pavement. Behind me, a car door slammed.
“Eleanor!””
I didn't look back.
I ducked into the café, pushed through the crowded tables, and hurried toward the kitchen.
A waiter blocked my path.
“Miss, you can't go back there.””
“Please. Someone is following me.””
He glanced toward the entrance.
The man in the black coat had entered the café.
He didn't look hurried.
He didn't need to.
He scanned the room with the calm expression of someone who already knew where I would be.
I ducked behind a pillar and called Isabelle.
“I'm inside the café across from the venue. He's here.””
“Stay where you are. Security is two minutes away.””
The man approached the counter.
He spoke quietly to the cashier, placed a bill on the surface, and turned toward the tables.
Then his eyes found mine.
He smiled.
Not warmly.
Not with surprise.
With recognition.
He lifted one hand and showed me the gold star ring.
“Eleanor Hayes,” he called.
The café fell quiet.
“You have your mother's face.””
I couldn't move.
He took a step toward me.
“My name is Adrian Cross. I knew Grace very well.””
“Stay away from me.””
He stopped.
“Of course. You have every reason to distrust strangers.””
“Did you kill my mother?””
A murmur passed through the café.
Adrian's smile vanished.
“No.””
“Then why are you following me?””
“Because your father has lied to you about almost everything.””
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“That's not an answer.””
“No,” he agreed.
“It's a warning.””
He reached into his coat and withdrew a folded document.
“I can prove that the silver panel contains more than your mother's designs. It contains evidence that could destroy Richard Hayes, Celeste Whitmore, and several people who still control Bellamy House.””
“Why should I believe you?””
“Because I have the original contract.””
He held up the paper.
At the bottom, I saw my mother's signature.
Beside it was Thomas Bellamy's.
And beneath both signatures was a third name.
*Adrian Cross.*
I stared at the document.
“What do you want?””
“To correct a mistake.””
“What mistake?””
He looked toward the window.
“Allowing Richard to convince the world that Grace was a thief.””
“Why didn't you speak up twenty-two years ago?””
For the first time, something resembling regret crossed his face.
“Because I was afraid.””
“Of my father?””
“Of what he knew.””
I took a step closer.
“What did he know?””
Adrian folded the document.
“That your mother had discovered the truth about Thomas's death.””
The room seemed to spin.
“You said Thomas died in an accident.””
“That's what the official report says.””
“And you don't believe it?””
“No.””
He looked at me.
“Neither did your mother.””
My phone vibrated.
Isabelle had sent a message.
*Security is outside. Do not let Cross leave with the contract.*
I looked up.
Adrian had noticed the message.
His expression hardened.
“Isabelle is coming?””
“Yes.””
“Then I have very little time.””
He placed the contract on the table between us.
“Take it. Read the final page.””
I hesitated.
Then I unfolded the document.
The final page contained a handwritten note, dated three days before Thomas's death.
If anything happens to me, the ownership agreement must be transferred to Grace Bellamy and Richard Hayes jointly until Eleanor and Vanessa reach the age of twenty-six.
I looked at Adrian.
“Why Richard?””
“Because Thomas trusted him.””
“Then why did my father betray him?””
Adrian's gaze dropped to the paper.
“Because Thomas discovered that Richard had been diverting money from the company. He planned to expose him.””
My stomach tightened.
“Did Richard kill him?””
“I can't prove that.””
“Did Celeste?””
“I can't prove that either.””
“Then what can you prove?””
Adrian reached into his coat again and removed a small envelope.
Inside was a photograph of a hospital corridor.
A woman lay on a bed behind a glass partition.
Her face was turned away, but I recognized the shape of her hands.
My mother's hands.
Beside the bed stood Celeste.
And beside Celeste was a nurse holding a syringe.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written:
Room 417. February 14. 4:12 a.m.
I couldn't breathe.
“Where did you get this?””
“From a nurse who worked at the hospital the night Grace died.””
“Is she still alive?””
“No.””
My fingers trembled.
“Was my mother murdered?””
Adrian looked directly at me.
“I believe she was given something that caused her heart to stop.””
The café door opened.
Isabelle rushed inside with two security guards behind her.
Adrian stepped back.
“Keep the photograph,” he told me.
“But don't trust anyone who offers to help you without asking what they stand to gain.””
One of the guards moved toward him.
Adrian raised his hands.
“I am not resisting.””
Isabelle stopped beside me.
“What have you done?””
“Given her a choice,” he replied.
Then he looked at me one last time.
“Your father wasn't the only man who betrayed Grace. The person who ordered her death is still alive.””
He turned toward the security guards.
Before they could escort him outside, he spoke again.
“Ask Celeste what happened at Room 417.””
Then he was gone.
I stood frozen, clutching the photograph.
Isabelle read the writing on the back.
Her face drained of color.
“Eleanor,” she whispered, “I need you to understand something.””
I looked at her.
“Room 417 wasn't where your mother died.””
“Then what was it?””
Isabelle stared at the photograph.
“It was where Thomas Bellamy was declared dead.””
I felt the blood leave my face.
The date on the photograph was February 14.
Thomas had supposedly died on February 13.
And the timestamp was 4:12 a.m.
My mother had been in the same hospital, on the same night, as the man whose death had supposedly destroyed her life.
I looked at the woman in the photograph.
At Celeste.
At the nurse.
At the syringe.
Then my phone rang.
My father's name appeared on the screen.
I answered.
For several seconds, I heard only his breathing.
Then he spoke in a voice so broken I barely recognized it.
“Eleanor, whatever Adrian told you, don't believe him.””
“Why was Mum in Room 417?””
Silence.
“Dad?””
He exhaled shakily.
“Because she wasn't there to visit Thomas.””
My knees nearly gave way.
“Then why was she there?””
My father began to cry.
May you like
And the words that followed changed everything I thought I knew about my family.
“Because Thomas Bellamy was still alive when your mother entered that room.””
