Chương 6
They moved into the library.
The room had belonged to Charles.
Adrian had avoided it since the funeral.
The shelves still held his father’s books arranged with impossible precision.
The desk still had the small scratch near the corner from when Adrian, at sixteen, had dropped a trophy on it and lied about how it happened.
Charles had known.
He always knew.
Adrian stood behind the desk while Elena and Victoria sat across from him.
“No more half-truths,” he said.
Neither woman spoke.
“My father died eleven months ago.”
“Yes,” Elena said.
“Explain.”
Victoria looked at Elena.
Elena looked back.
A silent argument passed between them.
Finally, Victoria spoke.
“Charles had a heart condition.”
Adrian nodded.
“I know.”
“No, you know what the hospital records said.”
The distinction made his stomach tighten.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying Charles had another doctor.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
Victoria looked down.
“I only know because I saw the appointments.”
“When?”
“Months before he died.”
Adrian stared.
“And you said nothing?”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“Several times.”
“When?”
Victoria looked at him.
“When you were drunk after the funeral.”
The sentence landed unexpectedly.
Adrian looked away.
He hated that she had chosen a memory he could not argue with.
After his father died, he had spent three weeks barely functioning.
He had gone to work.
Signed papers.
Attended meetings.
Then come home and sit in the dark.
“I thought you were grieving,” Victoria continued.
“I was.”
“Yes.”
Her voice softened.
“And I thought grief was the only thing happening.”
Adrian looked at her.
“But it wasn’t.”
“No.”
“What else?”
Victoria folded her hands together.
“Your father was investigating someone.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
She looked frustrated.
“I knew pieces.”
“Which pieces?”
“He believed someone inside the family had been lying to him.”
The words changed the room.
Adrian looked at Elena.
She immediately shook her head.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You looked at me.”
“Because you were the person who lied about Noah.”
Elena absorbed the accusation.
“I know.”
“Did my father think it was you?”
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
Too immediate.
Adrian noticed.
“Why are you so sure?”
“Because he called me.”
“When?”
“The night before he died.”
Adrian stared.
“Why?”
Elena looked toward the bookshelves.
“He apologized.”
“For what?”
“For asking me to keep Noah away from certain people.”
Adrian felt a chill move through him.
“Who?”
Elena did not answer.
Victoria leaned forward.
“Elena.”
She closed her eyes.
“I don’t know if I should say.”
Adrian’s voice hardened.
“You should.”
“He told me not to trust anyone who had access to the family records.”
“What records?”
“The private archive.”
Adrian frowned.
“My father’s archive?”
“Yes.”
“The one in the garage?”
Elena nodded.
A memory surfaced.
A small one.
Almost meaningless.
His father had always kept a locked cabinet in the garage.
Adrian had asked about it once when he was younger.
Charles had told him some doors stayed closed for a reason.
At the time, Adrian thought it was another lesson about discipline.
Now it sounded like a warning.
“Who had access?” Adrian asked.
Victoria answered.
“Three people.”
“Who?”
“Your father.”
Adrian waited.
“Me.”
He looked at her.
“And?”
Victoria hesitated.
“Adrian.”
“Who?”
Her eyes moved toward the library door.
Nobody was there.
Still, she lowered her voice.
“Your brother.”
The room became completely still.
Adrian stared at her.
“My brother is dead.”
Victoria said nothing.
That was the answer.
That was the thing she was afraid to say.
Adrian stepped back from the desk.
He felt suddenly unsteady.
“My brother died when I was twenty.”
“Yes.”
“Car accident.”
“Yes.”
“Everyone knows that.”
Victoria looked at him.
“Everyone knows the story.”
The words were careful.
Precise.
Adrian felt his phone vibrate again.
He did not want to look.
He already knew it would be something he could not ignore.
But he did.
Another message.
One sentence.
Your father buried one son and protected the other. You should ask which one he was afraid of.
Adrian read the message once.
Then again.
Then a third time, slower.
Your father buried one son and protected the other.
You should ask which one he was afraid of.
The words did not feel like a threat.
That was what made them worse.
A threat was simple.
A threat came from someone who wanted something.
This felt like someone opening a door and stepping away, leaving Adrian alone with whatever waited on the other side.
“My brother is dead,” Adrian said.
Nobody responded.
He looked at Victoria.
“My brother is dead.”
“I know.”
“Then stop talking like he isn’t.”
Victoria looked down.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
His voice rose slightly.
The first sign of anger.
The first crack.
“Elena, tell me I’m wrong.”
Elena did not answer.
That silence made the room feel smaller.
Adrian walked toward the window.
His reflection stared back at him from the glass.
For a second, he saw his father instead.
Not because they looked exactly alike.
They did not.
Charles had been older, harder, sharper around the edges.
But there were moments when Adrian caught himself making the same expressions.
The same tight jaw.
The same habit of standing still when everything inside him wanted to move.
He hated that thought.
He hated the possibility that whatever was happening had been passed down without anyone noticing.
“Start from the beginning,” Adrian said.
Victoria looked confused.
“What?”
“My brother.”
She hesitated.
“Adrian.”
“Start.”
Nobody spoke for several seconds.
Then Victoria exhaled.
“His name was Daniel.”
Adrian looked at her.
“I know his name.”
“I know.”
“Don’t tell me about him like he was a stranger.”
Victoria nodded.
“You were seventeen when it happened.”
Adrian said nothing.
He remembered the phone call.
The way his mother dropped a glass in the kitchen.
The way Charles disappeared into his office for two days afterward.
The funeral.
The people who came and said Daniel was a good kid.
May you like
The photographs.
The flowers.
