Chapter 8 - The Family War
My mother revealed everything.
She had spent years tracking the counterfeit network.
Thomas had been involved from the beginning.
Matteo had been funding him.
Elias had been the public face.
The goal was never simply money.
It was control of the international art market.
Fake masterpieces.
Inflated valuations.
Insurance fraud.
Money laundering.
And my skill was the missing piece.
I could authenticate their forged works.
Or expose them.
They wanted control of me.
Anthony understood.
“They're coming.”
My mother nodded.
“They always do.”
That night, the safe house was attacked.
Gunfire.
Broken windows.
Men outside.
Anthony's security team fought back.
My mother and I hid upstairs.
Then we heard a familiar voice.
“Emma!”
My father.
I froze.
Thomas entered.
He wasn't armed.
He looked destroyed.
“I came for you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You came to sell me again?”
“No.”
“You already did.”
“I was wrong.”
“You were scared.”
“Yes.”
“You chose money.”
“Yes.”
“You chose yourself.”
He cried.
“I thought if I paid the debt, we'd survive.”
“You could have lost the house.”
“I know.”
“You could have gone to prison.”
“I know.”
“You chose me.”
He nodded.
“I did.”
I looked at him.
Then my mother stepped forward.
“Thomas.”
He froze.
“Sarah.”
My mother slapped him.
The sound echoed.
“You let our daughter believe I was dead.”
“I was trying—”
“No.”
She pointed toward me.
“You were trying to save yourself.”
He lowered his head.
Outside, an explosion shook the building.
Anthony entered.
“We have to go.”
My father looked at him.
“Please.”
Anthony said nothing.
Thomas continued.
“Matteo has the ledger.”
“I know.”
“He wants Emma to certify the collection.”
“I know.”
“And he has something else.”
“What?”
Thomas swallowed.
“He took the original evidence from the chapel.”
Anthony's face hardened.
“What evidence?”
“The murder records.”
My father looked at me.
“Your mother's.”
Silence.
Matteo had planned to destroy every piece of evidence.
But there was one thing he hadn't anticipated.
Me.
My memory.
My mother's training.
Her journals.
And the photograph.
The photograph wasn't simply a photograph.
The painting behind us had a hidden mark.
A restoration code.
I recognized it.
We returned to the chapel ruins.
Beneath the collapsed floor, I found a metal plate.
A hidden compartment.
Inside was a small metal cylinder.
The original film.
Photographs proving everything.
Matteo's crimes.
Thomas's payments.
Elias's network.
And one final recording.
Anthony's grandfather.
He confessed.
Then said,
“If I failed to stop this, my grandson must.”
Anthony listened.
Tears filled his eyes.
“My grandfather believed in me.”
I touched his hand.
“He was right.”
He looked at me.
Then kissed me.
This time neither of us stopped.
The moment ended when police sirens approached.
Matteo had been found.
But he wasn't alone.
He had taken my father.
May you like
Thomas was being held at the harbor.
We had one hour.
