THE SON THEY BURIED WAS THEIR ONLY HEIR

Chapter Seventeen: The Woman Who Vanished

The words stuck with Benedict, still ringing in his mind hours after Sophia had said them.

"The elderly woman... she's gone."

For the briefest moment, time seemed to stop.

Then instinct took over.

Benedict was already moving.

He took the stairs of Ashcroft Manor two at a time, the sound of his footsteps bouncing off the walls in the quiet hallway. Meanwhile, the letter Gabriel Frost had handed him was still lying on his bedroom floor, forgotten in the rush.

All he could think about was the old woman.

Please... let her be safe.

The air outside was cool and fresh, filled with the sweet smell of roses that had been soaked by the rain.

The security guards were already searching the grounds with flashlights.

The head butler hurried toward Benedict.

"Director Benedict."

"What happened?" Benedict asked, his voice calm despite the urgency in his eyes.

"We're still trying to determine that, sir."

"When was she last seen?"

"About forty minutes ago."

"She finished helping Mrs. Collins in the laundry room. One of the maids offered to prepare her room for the night, but when she returned..."

The butler hesitated.

"...the room was empty."

"No one saw her leave?"

The butler shook his head.

"No."

Benedict's expression hardened.

"Seal every gate."

"Don't let any car leave the property until we've looked everywhere, every single inch of the grounds, to make sure nothing is missed."

"Yes, sir."

The guards quickly ran off to do what they were told.

From the second-floor balcony, Victor and Eleanor watched the activity below.

"What happened?" Eleanor asked anxiously.

Victor's face was grim.

"The new housekeeper has disappeared."

Eleanor frowned.

"So suddenly?"

Victor nodded slowly.

"Yes."

She looked toward Benedict as he coordinated the search.

The concern on his face surprised her.

He had known the woman for less than a day.

He looked around like he was scared of losing someone who mattered a lot to him.

Something about that realization stirred an unfamiliar ache in Eleanor's heart.

Meanwhile...

Benedict walked toward the small guest cottage where the elderly woman had been staying.

The room was neat.

Too neat.

The bed had never been slept in.

A folded blanket rested perfectly at the foot of the mattress.

Her small cloth bag remained beside the chair.

Inside were only a few modest belongings.

A spare dress.

A worn Bible.

Reading glasses.

A small notebook.

Benedict carefully opened it.

Most of the pages contained simple reminders.

Medicine schedules.

Birthday dates for children from the orphanage.

Shopping lists.

Nothing unusual.

Then he reached the final page.

His eyes narrowed.

Only one sentence had been written there.

When I see him smile, that's when I'll know for sure I've found the one I'm looking for, the right kid.

Benedict read it again.

Then a third time.

His chest tightened.

The handwriting...

It wasn't the same as the letters in his possession.

But the words carried the same warmth.

The same quiet affection.

Who exactly had this woman been searching for?

A knock came at the open door.

Damian stepped inside.

"I thought you might be here."

Benedict closed the notebook.

"Have they found anything?"

Damian shook his head.

"Nothing."

He looked around the tiny room.

"It doesn't feel like someone left willingly."

Benedict agreed.

Her walking stick was gone.

But everything else remained.

If she had planned to leave...

She would have taken her bag.

Her Bible.

Her notebook.

People did not abandon the few possessions that made up their lives without reason.

The two men stepped outside.

Rain clouds drifted slowly across the moon.

Damian broke the silence.

"Do you think someone took her?"

Benedict didn't answer immediately.

He dropped to one knee beside the flower bed, just outside the small cottage.

The damp soil had preserved several footprints.

He studied them carefully.

One belonged to the elderly woman.

Small.

Unsteady.

The second...

Much larger.

A man's shoe.

Expensive.

Recently polished.

Not a servant's work shoes.

Not a gardener's boots.

Not security footwear.

The footprints stopped near the rear service road.

Beyond that...

The gravel revealed nothing.

Someone had been careful.

Very careful.

Benedict stood slowly.

"This wasn't an accident."

Damian looked at him.

"You found something?"

Benedict nodded toward the footprints.

"She didn't leave alone."

Damian's expression darkened.

"Should we call the police?"

"We will."

"But first..."

Benedict looked toward the shadows beyond the garden wall.

"I want to know why someone came for her."

At that same moment...

Miles away, inside the penthouse overlooking the city, the elderly mastermind stood beside the enormous windows.

The younger man entered quietly.

"The woman has been secured."

The old man remained silent.

"Did she resist?"

The younger man smiled faintly.

"She asked only one question."

"What was it?"

"'Has Benedict eaten dinner?'"

For the first time in many years...

The old man's expression shifted.

Not to sympathy.

But to my irritation.

"Even now..."

"She thinks only of him."

He walked slowly toward the chessboard.

His fingers rested on a white knight.

"Compassion has always been the greatest weakness of good people."

With a single movement...

He removed the knight from the board.

"Let's see how far Benedict is willing to go..."

"...to save someone who remembers his name."

Back at Ashcroft Manor...

Benedict stood alone near the rose garden after the search had been suspended for the night.

The estate was quiet once more.

Too quiet.

His gaze drifted toward the forgotten iron gate.

Toward Edward Ashcroft's hidden garden.

A cold breeze swept through the roses.

Then...

Something caught his eye.

Tucked away under one of the beautiful white rose bushes, someone had left a little surprise - a folded-up piece of paper, kept safe and dry from the rain by a flat stone that was sitting on top of it.

It hadn't been there that morning.

Benedict bent down and carefully unfolded it.

Only six words were written across the page.

"Trust the promise beneath the oak."

His heartbeat quickened.

Someone had left a message for him.

But who?

The elderly woman...

Or someone else?

As he looked toward the dark outline of the forgotten garden...

He realized one thing with absolute certainty.

Tomorrow...

He would return.

The first rays of dawn crept over Ashcroft Manor.

The estate was unusually quiet.

The staff walked quietly through the halls, speaking in soft tones, trying not to disrupt the somber mood that had fallen over the home.

News of the elderly woman's disappearance had spread.

Even those who had known her for only a day spoke of her with concern.

She greeted everyone with a smile.

She could recall the name of every single servant, even if she had only heard it one time, which was really impressive.

Somehow...

She had already made the manor feel warmer.

And now she is gone.

Benedict stood in the forgotten rose garden.

The folded note remained in his hand.

"Trust the promise beneath the oak."

His eyes slowly lifted toward the enormous tree standing at the center of the garden.

The very tree that Edward Ashcroft had planted many years ago, decades earlier, still stood tall.

The old tree where Edward would come back every year in the spring, always bringing new white roses with him.

He walked toward it.

Each step seemed heavier than the last.

As he got to the trunk, he took a close look at the ground around it.

Nothing appeared unusual.

He circled the tree once.

Then again.

As the morning sun broke through the branches, something caught his attention.

A part of the roots came up out of the ground, curving upward in a soft, gentle shape.

The earth under their feet seemed to be a bit different from the ground around it.

It had been disturbed.

Not recently...

But years ago.

Benedict knelt.

He used a branch that had fallen to the ground to carefully sweep away the leaves and dirt that were scattered around.

After several minutes, the wood struck something solid.

A dull metallic sound echoed softly.

He cleared away the remaining dirt.

A small iron box emerged from the earth.

The lock had been worn down by time, its surface discolored with a layer of rust, and it had broken off long ago.

Benedict drew a slow breath.

Someone had hidden it here.

Deliberately.

He carefully lifted the lid.

Inside lay only three items.

A faded white ribbon.

A tiny silver baby bracelet.

And a sealed envelope.

The bracelet was engraved with a single word.

Ben.

Benedict stared at it.

His hands trembled almost imperceptibly.

He had never owned jewelry.

He had never seen this bracelet before.

Yet something inside him tightened.

A strange sadness.

A longing without a memory.

He picked up the ribbon.

The smell of roses still lingered, even after all this time.

Mr. Harris had been walking behind him, not making a sound, when he suddenly let out a loud gasp as he entered the garden.

"I remember that ribbon."

Benedict looked up.

"You do?"

The old gardener nodded slowly.

"Chairman Edward tied it around a cradle during the spring festival."

He frowned.

"But I never knew why."

Benedict's heartbeat quickened.

"A cradle?"

Mr. Harris closed his eyes, searching his memories.

"There was a baby..."

"I only saw him once."

"The Chairman wouldn't let anyone near."

"I assumed it belonged to a guest."

He lowered his head.

"Perhaps I remembered incorrectly."

Benedict looked back at the bracelet.

The engraved name seemed to burn into his thoughts.

Ben.

Before he could reach for the sealed envelope...

Footsteps echoed through the garden.

Victor.

The look on his face changed in an instant, the moment he laid eyes on the old iron box, its lid thrown wide open.

"What have you found?"

Benedict rose respectfully.

"This was buried beneath the oak tree."

Victor's eyes settled on the silver bracelet.

For the first time in many years...

The color drained from his face.

He knew that bracelet.

Or at least...

He had seen it once before.

As a young man.

In his father's hands.

Victor whispered almost unconsciously,

"Father..."

Benedict looked at him.

"You've seen this before?"

Victor quickly composed himself.

"I..."

He stopped.

For reasons he couldn't explain...

His own memories suddenly felt incomplete.

There were gaps.

Conversations he could no longer recall.

Questions he had never thought to ask.

He looked toward the great oak tree.

"What were you trying to protect, Father?"

At that same moment...

Across the city...

The elderly woman slowly opened her eyes.

She found herself in a clean but unfamiliar room.

The curtains were drawn.

The windows were locked.

A tray of untouched food rested on a nearby table.

The door opened.

A middle-aged nurse entered carrying medicine.

"Good morning."

The elderly woman looked at her calmly.

"Where am I?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that."

"Am I a prisoner?"

The nurse hesitated.

I was advised to focus solely on my well-being.

The old woman smiled gently.

The person who brought me to this place is still afraid of what really happened.

The nurse looked confused.

"What truth?"

The elderly woman closed her eyes.

"The truth that no lie..."

"...can bury forever."

Outside the room...

The young man spoke softly to the older man who was in charge.

"She refuses to tell us what she remembers."

The old man smiled faintly.

"That's because she remembers almost nothing."

He tapped his silver cane against the floor.

"But sometimes..."

"...hope remembers what the mind forgets."

His gaze shifted toward a photograph of Benedict.

"That is why she is dangerous."

Back at Ashcroft Manor...

Benedict finally reached for the sealed envelope.

Unlike the others...

Its paper had been carefully protected by wax.

On the front, in writing that was clearly Edward Ashcroft's, were just eight short words.

"To the one who deserves the whole truth."

Benedict looked at Victor.

Victor looked back at him.

Neither man spoke.

The wind stirred the branches overhead.

Slowly...

Very slowly...

Benedict broke the wax seal.

Before he could unfold the first page—

A distant shout shattered the silence.

"Director Benedict!"

It was one of the security guards.

He came running toward the garden, breathless.

"Sir..."

"We've just received a message."

"What message?" Benedict asked.

The guard swallowed hard.

"It concerns the missing woman."

He handed over a plain white envelope.

There was no stamp.

No address.

Only one chilling sentence written across the front.

If you want to catch a glimpse of her, you have to come by yourself.

Benedict's eyes hardened.

The game had changed.

And for the first time...

It had become personal.