Part 2: The Ghost of the Blackwell Fortune
The morning after the birthday party, Blackwell Manor was a tomb of secrets.
The guests had long since fled, terrified by the news of the hidden will and the security raid.
Nathan sat at the head of the long dining table, his laptop open.
Vanessa was sitting in the corner of the room, watched by two armed guards.
She was no longer wearing her expensive dress; she sat in a simple jumpsuit, her face pale, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
"The bank box was exactly as the chauffeur promised," Nathan said, his voice cold and devoid of life.
He pushed a thick stack of papers toward the center of the table.
"Bank statements from a private account in Vanessa's maiden name," he explained.
"She had been siphoning money from my father's estate for years, long before he died."
Mrs. Blackwell leaned in, her eyes widening as she scanned the document.
"This is impossible! She wasn't even part of the family back then!"
Nathan shook his head.
"She was my father's secretary, Mother."
The room went silent.
"She knew about Daniel from the very beginning."
"She didn't just hide the will," Nathan added, turning to look at Vanessa. "She helped someone else find it."
Vanessa remained silent, but her breathing was ragged.
"Who helped you, Vanessa?" Nathan pressed.
She looked away, toward the French doors that opened into the garden.
"It doesn't matter," she whispered.
"It matters to me," Nathan said. "My brother is out there somewhere, and the people who stole my father's will are still watching."
Emma stood near the back of the room, her hand still resting on Ben's shoulder.
She had stayed behind to help, feeling a strange, magnetic pull toward the Blackwells' plight.
She watched as Nathan opened the leather journal once more.
"There's a page here I skipped," he said.
He read aloud:
"I am terrified of the person I have brought into my home. She knows about Daniel. She knows about the money. She is waiting for me to pass so she can take it all."
Nathan closed the book.
"You weren't his wife, Vanessa. You were his jailer."
"I did what I had to do!" Vanessa finally snapped, standing up.
"You were always going to be the favorite son! Even if Daniel came back, you would have everything, and I would be nothing!"
Nathan walked over to her, his height and presence dwarfing her.
"And now?"
"Now you're going to prison for forgery, theft, and conspiracy."
Nathan signaled to the security guards.
"Take her. And ensure she doesn't leave the premises until the authorities arrive."
As Vanessa was led away, Nathan felt a strange, hollow relief.
But the most important part of the puzzle remained.
"Daniel Carter," Nathan whispered.
He pulled out his phone.
He had hired a private investigator the moment the library compartment was opened.
"Any updates?" he asked when the investigator answered.
"I found him," the voice replied. "He's working as a carpenter in a small town two hours away."
Nathan's heart skipped a beat.
"Is he okay?"
"He's a good man, sir. He's struggling, but he's happy."
Nathan stood up.
"Keep him safe."
He turned to his mother.
"I have to see him."
"Be careful, Nathan," she said, her voice shaking. "Vanessa's associates... they are still out there."
Nathan nodded.
He walked toward the front door, the heavy iron key in his pocket feeling like a beacon of hope.
But as he reached his car, he stopped.
Standing in the middle of the circular driveway was a man he had never seen before.
A man wearing a black coat, his face obscured by a hat.
He held a photograph in his hand.
He looked at Nathan, then at the photograph, and finally at the house.
"Are you Nathan Blackwell?" the man asked.
Nathan felt his spine stiffen.
"Who are you?"
The man smiled, but it was a cold, empty expression.
"A friend of your brother's."
"Or so I thought."
He held out the photograph.
It showed Daniel—Nathan's brother—and Vanessa, meeting in a dark parking lot.
Nathan’s eyes widened.
"They were together?"
The man nodded.
"I think you need to read the journal again, Nathan."
"There's something about Daniel you haven't realized yet."
Nathan’s hand trembled as he took the photograph.
"What do you mean?"
"Your brother isn't the victim you think he is."
"He knows exactly what Vanessa did."
"And he wants his share."
The ground seemed to crumble beneath Nathan's feet.
The drama was far from over.
May you like
The Blackwell fortune was a battlefield, and he wasn't just fighting his ex-wife anymore.
He was fighting his own blood.
