Chapter 9
The envelope was marked Alexander Russo, with the estate’s address beneath it.
The red stamp had been placed over the address.
RETURNED—NO SUCH RECIPIENT.
“That’s impossible,” he said.
“Apparently not.”
He opened another.
Then another.
His breathing became uneven.
Ethan watched him.
“Dad?”
Alexander did not answer.
He reached for the brass key.
“I’m going to the archive.”
“So am I.”
“No.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
His gaze met mine.
The old authority was there, but beneath it was something else now—a fear he could not conceal.
“If someone altered those records,” he said, “they may still be watching the estate.”
“Then you should have brought all those guards inside.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“I won’t put you at risk.”
“You already did that ten years ago when you believed evidence you never verified.”
The words struck him.
Ethan looked between us.
I softened my voice.
“I’m not asking you to protect me from the truth, Alexander. I’m asking you to let me see it.”
He held my gaze for a long moment.
Then he nodded once.
We walked toward the west wing together.
The corridor had been closed since my departure. Dust covered the portraits along the walls, but the brass handles on the doors had been polished recently.
Someone had been using this part of the house.
Alexander stopped before a narrow wooden door at the end of the passage.
He inserted the key.
The lock turned.
Inside, shelves lined every wall. Boxes were stacked from floor to ceiling, each marked with dates, company names, or legal categories. A single lamp burned on the central desk.
I stopped.
“You knew this room had electricity.”
“I didn’t know the lamp was on.”
Alexander entered first.
I followed.
The air smelled of paper and cold stone.
On the desk lay an open file.
Alexander picked it up.
The first page contained my name.
Claire Bennett Russo.
Underneath was a list of dates, locations, and bank transfers.
My pulse quickened.
“These are the payments made to the witnesses,” I said.
Alexander scanned the page.
“There were no payments.”
“That’s what I was told.”
I moved closer.
The amounts matched the records I had spent years reconstructing. But beside each payment was a handwritten note:
Witness contacted.
Statement delivered.
No further action required.
At the bottom of the page, someone had written a single sentence.
She will leave if the child is placed in danger.