Chapter 3 - The Weight of the Past
Bram returned within minutes,
not with a car,
but with two maintenance workers carrying heavy-duty equipment.
They brought suction grips and iron pry bars,
their faces grim as they looked at the billionaire and the bleeding maid.
"There must be a release,"
Weston muttered,
walking toward the threshold of the library.
He knelt,
running his hands along the wood paneling until his fingers found a hidden indentation.
A recessed brass catch,
worn smooth by years of non-use,
waited beneath the lip of the doorway.
When Weston pressed it,
a heavy mechanical groan vibrated through the floorboards,
the sound of ancient gears finally being forced to turn.
The marble slab shifted,
rising a fraction of an inch as the seal of decades was finally broken.
The maintenance men attached the suction grips,
straining their muscles as they pulled the heavy stone upward.
Together,
they raised the panel,
revealing a dark,
square void that smelled of cedar and old paper.
A shallow steel compartment sat nestled within the foundation of the house,
a secret vault hidden in plain sight.
Inside lay a small cedar box,
the same one Priya had seen Odalys moving earlier in the week.
Beside it were three large rolls of canvas,
carefully wrapped in protective linen,
and a black leather ledger.
Wren made a sound that was half-gasp,
half-sob,
her hand flying to her mouth.
"Silas built this,"
she whispered,
her eyes filling with tears.
"He told me that old homes needed places for old truths."
Weston looked at his mother,
his brow furrowed in confusion.
"Father?
He hid this from us?"
Odalys began to back toward the garden doors,
her eyes fixed on the exit as if planning her escape.
"Don't let her leave,"
Priya said,
her voice ringing with a sudden,
unshakeable authority.
Bram stepped into the path of the garden doors,
his arms crossed,
silently blocking the way.
Weston reached into the vault and pulled out the first roll of canvas,
his hands steady as he unrolled it across the remaining marble.
A stormy harbor scene emerged,
the oil paint cracked with age,
the brushstrokes masterful and unmistakable.
It was the original Winslow-style seascape that Odalys had claimed was stolen months ago.
The other two missing paintings,
the pride of the Castellan collection,
were nestled right beneath it.
Weston turned to face his fiancée,
the paintings spread out between them like evidence in a courtroom.
"Why were these under my floor,
Odalys?"
"How would I know?"
she screamed,
her voice reaching a frantic pitch.
"Priya must have put them there to frame me!"
Priya almost laughed,
the absurdity of the accusation cutting through her shock.
"I didn't even know the compartment existed until the blood showed me the way."
"And I certainly didn't have the key to the library's hidden catch."
Weston ignored the shouting,
his attention shifting to the black leather ledger.
May you like
He opened the first page,
and the room went so quiet you could hear the distant chirping of birds in the garden.
