Chapter 5 - The Voice from the Past
The room fell so silent that the ticking of the silver pocket watch on the desk sounded like a hammer blow.
Daniel picked up the cassette recorder with gloved hands, his eyes narrowing at the label. The handwriting was neat, sharp, and unmistakably Arthur Vale's: For the day the truth catches up.
"Is it working?" Maya asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Daniel pressed the play button. For a second, there was only the hiss of aged magnetic tape, and then a voice filled the small study—clear, calm, and unmistakably chilling.
“If you are listening to this, Thomas, it means you refused to listen to reason. You cannot build an empire on sentimentality. Eleanor found the discrepancies because you showed her the private accounts. She had to be stopped. Richard understands necessity. You, unfortunately, do not.”
The tape clicked as it paused, then resumed with the sound of a lighter snapping open, followed by a low chuckle.
“And if it's Ethan or the Bennett girl listening... congratulations on the detective work. But you are still looking at the shadow while the master is already across the border.”
The tape clicked off, leaving a heavy, suffocating silence in the room.
Vanessa stared at the recorder as if it were venomous. "He planned this from the very beginning. He let my father take the blame for fourteen years knowing that eventually, someone would come looking."
Ethan didn't speak. He walked over to the window that looked out onto the private courtyard. Through the rain-streaked glass, a single set of tail-lights was just turning out of the gated alleyway, accelerating into the storm.
"He's not across the border yet," Ethan said quietly.
Daniel pulled a master bypass tool from his utility belt and jammed it into the heavy iron seam of the study door. With a sharp wrench of metal against wood, the latch gave way, splintering the frame and swinging the door wide open.
"The courtyard exit," Daniel ordered, drawing his weapon. "Move!"
May you like
They burst out into the damp night air just as the rain began to ease into a cold, misty drizzle. The alleyway was empty except for a discarded umbrella and a single, heavy silver cufflink lying on the wet pavement near the gate.
Maya picked it up. It bore the crest of Cole Capital—the exact twin of the one Arthur Vale wore every single day at the office.
