PART 2: THE ROOM THAT DIDN’T EXIST
At 11:47 that night, Thomas and I stood outside the seventeenth-floor archive corridor.
Sophie was sleeping safely with my housekeeper, Maria.
The tower was almost completely dark.
Thomas held a flashlight.
I held the brass key.
The old corridor smelled of dust and cold metal.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Thomas asked.
“No.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“But I’m doing it anyway.”
The key fit an old lock hidden behind a wooden panel.
I turned it.
Click.
A section of wall opened.
Thomas stared.
“You knew this was here?”
“No.”
We stepped inside.
The room was enormous.
Shelves covered every wall.
Boxes filled the floor.
Documents.
Contracts.
Ledgers.
Photographs.
Old hard drives.
Everything my father had supposedly destroyed.
At the center was a metal desk.
On it sat a single envelope.
My name was written across it.
GABRIEL.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
My father.
Laura Bennett.
And a third person.
Richard Prescott.
All three stood outside a building I didn’t recognize.
On the back of the photograph, my father had written:
The first payment was made in 2008. The last one will be made when Gabriel becomes chairman.
Thomas read it over my shoulder.
“Your uncle.”
“I know.”
“No. I mean…”
“I know.”
Beneath the photograph was a ledger.
I opened it.
Payments.
Hundreds of them.
Small amounts at first.
Then millions.
All sent through shell companies.
All connected to one account.
Hayes Consulting.
I stared at the name.
“Sophie’s mother.”
Thomas nodded slowly.
“But why would your father pay her?”
“I don’t know.”
Then I found another document.
A personnel report.
Evelyn Hayes — daughter of Laura Bennett.
I stopped.
Laura Bennett.
The missing woman from seventeen years ago.
Sophie was Laura’s granddaughter.
The mystery suddenly became much larger.
Evelyn hadn’t simply worked for Prescott Holdings.
She had been investigating what happened to her mother.
I turned another page.
A list of names.
Employees.
Auditors.
Lawyers.
Accountants.
One after another.
Beside each name was a date.
And every date ended with the same notation:
REMOVED.
Thomas whispered, “This is a purge list.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“People who knew too much.”
There were thirty-two names.
The last one was Evelyn Hayes.
The second-to-last was my father.
The third-to-last was Laura Bennett.
I felt something inside me crack.
My father hadn’t been the mastermind.
He had been a target.
A noise came from the hallway.
We froze.
Footsteps.
Someone was coming.
Thomas switched off the flashlight.
The door opened.
A figure entered.
We couldn’t see his face.
He walked directly toward the desk.
Then stopped.
He picked up the ledger.
And whispered:
“Gabriel should never have found this.”
Thomas lunged.
The man ran.
We chased him through the corridor.
He reached the elevator.
The doors closed before we could catch him.
Thomas slammed his hand against the button.
“Who was that?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I had seen his watch.
A distinctive silver watch with a black face.
I had given that watch to my uncle Richard for his fiftieth birthday.
The next morning, Richard arrived at my office smiling as though nothing had happened.
“Gabriel.”
“Richard.”
He sat down.
“You look exhausted.”
“I didn’t sleep.”
“Board meeting?”
“No.”
He studied me.
“What is this about?”
I placed the termination letter on the desk.
His eyes dropped to it.
For half a second, something flashed across his face.
Then it disappeared.
“Evelyn Hayes,” he said.
“You know her.”
“Of course.”
“She says you fired her.”
“I didn’t fire anyone.”
“My signature is on this.”
Richard sighed.
“Gabriel, you’re chairman. Your signature appears on thousands of documents.”
“This one is forged.”
His smile vanished.
“Be careful with accusations.”
“I am.”
I leaned forward.
“Where were you three days ago?”
He stared at me.
“Why?”
“Just answer.”
“New York.”
Thomas entered behind him.
“Your flight records say you were in Chicago.”
Richard slowly turned.
“Excuse me?”
Thomas placed a folder on the desk.
“You arrived at O’Hare at 8:12 p.m. the night before Evelyn disappeared.”
Richard looked at him.
Then at me.
And smiled.
“You’ve become suspicious.”
“No,” I said.
“I’ve become curious.”
He stood.
“Curiosity can destroy a company.”
“Then maybe the company deserves to be destroyed.”
Richard’s expression hardened.
“Don’t talk like your father.”
I froze.
Richard walked to the door.
Then stopped.
“He trusted people too easily.”
He left.
I stared after him.
Thomas quietly said, “That’s not what an innocent man says.”
I didn’t answer.
Because I was thinking about something else.
My father had said:
The person you trust most is the person you must investigate first.
I had always assumed he meant Richard.
But what if he meant me?
What if my father had hidden the truth because he knew that someday I would inherit the company?
What if the entire seventeen-year cover-up had been designed to make me believe a lie?
Then Sophie appeared in the doorway.
She was holding her rabbit.
“Mr. Prescott?”
“Yes?”
“Mom said there was one more thing.”
She opened the rabbit’s repaired ear.
A tiny folded photograph fell out.
I picked it up.
It showed my father holding a newborn baby.
On the back was one sentence.
Gabriel, you were never supposed to inherit Prescott Holdings.
