Chapter 3 - THE TORN PHOTOGRAPH
I stared at the dried blood on the silver key.
My hands began to shake again.
Mr. Sterling hadn't died of a heart attack.
That was the story Victoria had given the staff.
That was the story the doctors had signed off on.
But looking at the dark stain on the metal, the truth suddenly felt much darker.
“We need to call the police,” I said.
“No.”
Julian closed his hand tightly around the key.
“Not yet. Victoria controls the local precinct. Half the officers in this town are on the Sterling payroll. If we call them now, this key disappears, and you and I will be arrested for stealing it.”
He was right.
Wealth protected wealth.
Julian looked at the will in his other hand.
He flipped to the last page.
Then he froze.
“Clara.”
“Yes, sir?”
“The signature page.”
I leaned closer.
The final page of the document—the page where the witnesses and the notary would have signed to make the will legally binding—was gone.
Ripped out.
The ragged edge of the thick paper was still caught in the binding.
“She tore it out,” I whispered.
Answer one: Victoria knew about the will.
Open two: Where was the signature page, and why did she keep the rest of the document instead of destroying the whole thing?
“A will without a signature is just a piece of paper,” Julian said bitterly. “She couldn't burn the main document because the law firm has a digital copy of the text. But without the physical signature page, she can claim the document was just a draft he never finalized.”
I looked down the stairs.
Victoria was gone.
“The vault,” I said.
Julian looked at me.
“What?”
“The silver key. It goes to your father’s vault. Maybe she hid the signature page in there.”
Julian nodded slowly.
“The vault is in the basement. Behind the wine cellar.”
“I know,” I said. “I clean the cellar.”
We moved quickly.
We didn't take the grand staircase. We took the servant’s stairs in the back of the house.
The basement was cold.
It smelled of old wood, damp stone, and expensive aging wine.
We walked to the very back of the cellar.
Behind a heavy oak rack holding hundreds of dusty bottles, there was a solid steel door.
Julian slid the bloody silver key into the lock.
It turned with a heavy, satisfying click.
He pulled the door open.
The vault wasn't large.
Just a small concrete room with a metal desk and a few safe deposit boxes.
But the room had been ransacked.
Papers were thrown everywhere.
Drawers were pulled out and dumped on the floor.
Victoria had been looking for something.
“Help me search,” Julian said.
We dropped to our knees, sifting through decades of financial records, old property deeds, and stock certificates.
Nothing looked like a signature page.
Then I saw it.
Tucked under the edge of the metal desk was a small, wooden frame.
The glass was shattered.
I pulled it out carefully.
It was a photograph.
But it was torn exactly in half.
The half that remained showed Mr. Sterling, looking ten years younger.
He was smiling.
And he was holding the hand of a little girl.
A little girl with bright blonde hair and a birthmark on her cheek.
I had never seen this child before in my life.
Julian had dark hair.
Victoria had no children.
“Julian,” I said softly.
He looked over.
He saw the photograph.
The color drained from his face completely.
“Where did you find that?”
“Under the desk.”
Julian took the broken frame from my hands.
His fingers traced the little girl’s face.
“That’s Lily,” he whispered.
“Who is Lily?”
Julian swallowed hard.
“She was Victoria’s daughter. From her first marriage. But Lily died twelve years ago in a car accident.”
I stared at the picture.
Then I looked at Julian.
“If she died twelve years ago, why is your father holding her hand in front of this house?”
Julian frowned.
“What do you mean?”
I pointed to the background of the photograph.
Behind Mr. Sterling and the little girl was the grand entrance of the Sterling mansion.
But there was a detail that didn't make sense.
“Julian,” I said, my voice trembling. “Look at the oak tree behind them. The one with the broken branch.”
Julian looked.
“That branch didn't break until the hurricane three years ago,” I said.
Julian’s eyes widened.
Answer one: The photo was taken recently.
Open two: Lily didn't die twelve years ago.
And if Lily was alive, who was Victoria hiding her from?
Suddenly, the heavy steel door of the vault slammed shut behind us.
May you like
The lock clicked into place.
We were trapped.
