Chapter 3 - THE TRAIN TICKET
The darkness lasted only a few seconds.
But in those seconds, I heard Adrian move.
He stepped between me and the hallway.
His hand remained around mine.
Not possessive.
Protective.
Then the emergency lights came on.
Grant appeared at the far end of the corridor.
“Adrian.”
Adrian released my hand.
“What happened?”
“The gallery doors opened.”
My stomach tightened.
“You said they were locked.”
“They were.”
Grant looked at me.
“Someone opened them from the inside.”
We hurried back.
The seven women were still there.
But one thing had changed.
The yellowed envelope was gone.
Adrian stopped.
“Who touched it?”
Nobody answered.
Caroline looked offended.
“Why would any of us steal an old envelope?”
Adrian’s eyes moved across the room.
Then toward the fireplace.
The envelope was lying there.
But it had been opened.
Adrian walked over.
The brass key was still in his pocket.
The letter was still with me.
But something else had disappeared.
The photograph of Evelyn.
Grant swore under his breath.
“Who took it?”
Melissa pointed toward Lauren.
“She was standing closest to the table.”
Lauren immediately shook her head.
“I didn't take anything.”
Vanessa crossed her arms.
“This is becoming ridiculous.”
Adrian looked at all seven women.
Then at me.
“Nora, what did you see before the lights went out?”
“The photograph.”
“What else?”
“The coat.”
His eyes sharpened.
“Did you touch it?”
“No.”
“Did you see the inside pocket?”
I shook my head.
Adrian walked back toward the service office.
I followed.
The navy-blue coat was still hanging where we had left it.
He reached inside the inner pocket.
His fingers found something.
A small object dropped onto the floor.
A silver bracelet.
Adrian picked it up.
His face changed.
“That belonged to my mother.”
Grant stared.
“Are you sure?”
“She wore it the night she died.”
I looked closer.
A tiny engraved plate hung from the bracelet.
Only three words were visible.
E.V. — 17
“Seventeen?” I asked.
Adrian shook his head.
“Her initials and my birthday.”
He turned it over.
Something had been scratched into the metal.
A number.
214.
Grant looked at the train ticket.
“Platform?”
Adrian studied the number.
“No.”
He reached for the old ticket.
On the front was the departure number.
His eyes widened.
“She didn't take this train.”
“What?”
“She bought the ticket for someone else.”
He flipped it over.
There was another line of writing.
If he asks where I went, tell him New York.
Grant looked at Adrian.
“Who was ‘he’?”
Adrian didn't answer.
Instead, he picked up the photograph frame.
The back panel had been loosened again.
This time, something was visible behind the cardboard.
A thin strip of paper.
He pulled it free.
It contained an address.
Not in New York.
In Philadelphia.
An old building near the river.
I recognized the name immediately.
“The Mercer Shipping Warehouse.”
Grant's face went pale.
Adrian looked at him.
“You know it?”
Grant nodded slowly.
“That warehouse belonged to your father.”
Adrian stared at the address.
“It's been abandoned for years.”
“Not completely.”
Grant hesitated.
“What do you mean?”
“Someone has been paying property taxes on it.”
Adrian's expression hardened.
“Who?”
Grant didn't answer immediately.
Then he said a name.
“Thomas Wren.”
The room became quiet.
I didn't know the man.
Adrian did.
His jaw tightened.
“Wren is still alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“Retired.”
“From what?”
“Estate management.”
Adrian gave a bitter smile.
“He managed my father's properties.”
I looked at the bracelet.
“And he knew your mother?”
“He was here the night she died.”
That sentence landed heavily.
Adrian had never told me he remembered that night.
Perhaps he didn't.
Perhaps he had spent twenty years trying not to.
Then Caroline spoke from behind us.
“My father knew Thomas Wren.”
Everyone turned.
Adrian stared at her.
“How?”
“My father worked with your father.”
She looked uncomfortable.
“He told me once that Evelyn Vale had discovered something about the shipping company.”
“What?”
Caroline shook her head.
“He never told me.”
Adrian stepped closer.
“You came here knowing that?”
“No.”
“Why didn't you mention it?”
“Because I thought it was family gossip.”
Her voice trembled.
For the first time, she looked genuinely frightened.
Adrian studied her.
Then something unexpected happened.
He didn't accuse her.
He simply said, “Thank you.”
Caroline looked stunned.
Adrian turned to me.
“We're going to the warehouse.”
Grant immediately objected.
“No.”
Adrian looked at him.
“You just told me my mother left evidence there.”
“I told you someone is paying taxes on it.”
“Exactly.”
Grant lowered his voice.
“That's why you shouldn't go.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever is maintaining that property may already know we found the key.”
The words had barely left his mouth when my phone buzzed.
I looked down.
A text message.
No number.
Just an image.
It was the photograph of Evelyn.
The missing photograph.
Underneath it were six words.
You should have chosen the necklace.
Adrian saw my screen.
His expression turned cold.
Grant whispered—
“They know about Nora.”
Adrian took my phone.
Then another message appeared.
This one contained a photograph of the old service hallway.
Taken from inside the house.
Taken tonight.
Adrian stared at it.
Someone had been watching us.
Then a final message arrived.
Ask Grant why Evelyn trusted him.
May you like
Adrian slowly looked at his cousin.
Grant's face had gone completely white.
