THE SON THEY BURIED WAS THEIR ONLY HEIR

Chapter Thirty Five: The Question Victor Feared

The gates of Ashcroft Manor opened slowly.

Benedict's car rolled through.

For the first time since leaving...

He wasn't returning as an employee.

He wasn't returning because Victor had called him.

He had to stay because his family needed him, and he couldn't just leave them like that.

He was returning because he had questions.

Questions that could no longer wait.

The manor looked exactly as he remembered it.

The stone walls.

The tall windows.

The carefully maintained gardens.

Yet something felt different.

Perhaps it was him.

Benedict parked near the entrance and stepped out.

The butler appeared almost immediately.

"Mr. Benedict."

Benedict nodded.

"I need to see Chairman Victor."

The butler hesitated.

"He's in his study."

"I'll go there."

As Benedict walked inside, memories surfaced.

The first morning he had entered the manor.

The countless meetings.

Damian's laughter.

Eleanor's kindness.

Victor's quiet approval.

For years...

This place felt like home.

He just wasn't sure what it was anymore, or if he had ever really known in the first place.

Victor was standing by the window, waiting for something, when Benedict came into the room.

He turned.

For several seconds, neither man spoke.

Then Victor said quietly,

"You came back."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Benedict closed the door behind him.

"I need answers."

Victor's expression tightened.

"About what?"

"The eastern wing."

Silence.

Benedict noticed the change immediately.

Victor's face had lost its calmness.

"You've been investigating."

"Yes."

"Who told you about it?"

"No one."

Benedict placed a photograph on the desk.

The eastern wing.

Victor stared at it.

"Where did you get this?"

"Someone sent it to me."

Victor looked away.

"Who?"

"I don't know."

He picked up another document.

"The fire twenty-four years ago."

Victor's fingers gripped the desk tightly.

"You shouldn't be digging into that."

"Why?"

"Because it's dangerous."

"That isn't an answer."

Victor looked at him.

"Some things happened before you understood the world."

Benedict's expression hardened.

"I understand enough now."

Victor remained silent.

Benedict continued.

"I found records that were deliberately altered."

Victor's eyes flickered.

"Where?"

"Your company."

Silence.

"Someone removed years from my personnel history."

Victor looked genuinely surprised.

"I knew nothing about that."

"Did you know about the eastern wing?"

Victor didn't answer.

Benedict stepped closer.

"Did you know about Room 17?"

Victor's face became pale.

Benedict had been waiting for that exact reaction.

"Yes."

The word was barely audible.

Benedict stared at him.

"What is Room 17?"

Victor sat down.

"I don't know."

"You've said that before."

"Because it's true."

"Then why were you told to seal it?"

Victor looked at him.

"Who told you that?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because only three people knew."

Benedict froze.

"Who?"

Victor's expression became distant.

"Me."

He paused.

"Harold Vance."

Another pause.

"And someone else."

"Who?"

Victor looked away.

"I can't tell you."

Benedict's jaw tightened.

"You can."

Victor shook his head.

"Not yet."

"How can you expect me to wait now, after keeping me in the dark for so long?"

Victor looked at him.

"I want you alive."

The words stopped Benedict.

Victor continued quietly.

"You think I'm hiding the truth because I don't trust you."

"You're not?"

I'm keeping it a secret because I've seen what happens to those who get too close to the truth.

Benedict stared at him.

"What happened?"

Victor's voice dropped.

"Harold disappeared from our lives."

"He didn't disappear. He came to Damian."

Victor's eyes widened.

"He's alive?"

"Yes."

For the first time...

Victor looked frightened.

Outside the study...

Eleanor stood in the corridor.

She had heard enough.

Benedict was back.

And Victor was afraid.

She left without making a sound, before the two men even realized she was gone.

Her heart was racing.

She had thought of Benedict as just a part of the family for a long time, not really considering anything more about him.

Now she was beginning to suspect there had always been another story.

A story no one had told her.

She returned to the library.

The box of letters remained on the table.

She opened it.

The missing letter was still gone.

But beneath the lining...

She found something.

A folded piece of paper.

Eleanor opened it.

Her breath caught.

There was a name.

Not Benedict.

Not Victor.

Not Harold.

A woman's name.

Margaret Vale.

Eleanor stared at it.

She knew the name.

She had heard it once.

Long ago.

From someone she could no longer remember.

Her fingers trembled.

"Who were you?"

Inside Victor's study...

Benedict remained standing.

"Who was the third person?"

Victor looked at him.

"I can't tell you."

"Then tell me what happened after the fire."

Victor closed his eyes.

"The official report was written."

"I've seen it."

"There was another report."

"I've seen that too."

Victor looked at him sharply.

"How?"

"I found it."

Victor slowly stood.

"What did it say?"

"That someone was inside the eastern wing."

Victor's face became pale.

Benedict watched him carefully.

"Who?"

Victor didn't answer.

"You know."

"I don't."

"Then why are you afraid?"

Victor's voice became barely audible.

"Because I was there that night."

Benedict's eyes narrowed.

"You were inside the eastern wing?"

"Yes."

"What did you see?"

Victor looked toward the door.

Then whispered,

"A child."

Benedict stopped breathing.

"A child?"

Victor nodded.

"Before the fire began..."

He swallowed.

I saw a child being removed from Room 17.

Benedict's heart pounded.

"Who was the child?"

Victor looked directly at him.

"I never found out."

A long silence followed.

Benedict's mind raced.

The photograph.

The boy.

The fire.

The missing records.

Twenty-four years.

Everything seemed to move closer together.

Then Victor said something that changed everything.

"The person carrying that child..."

He stopped.

Benedict waited.

"Who?"

Victor's face tightened.

"I knew her."

Benedict stared at Victor.

"You knew her?"

Victor nodded slowly.

"Yes."

"Who was she?"

Victor looked toward the window.

"I don't know where she is now."

"That's not what I asked."

"I know."

"Then answer me."

Victor's hands trembled slightly.

"Her name was Margaret Vale."

Benedict felt something tighten in his chest.

The name sounded familiar.

Not as a memory.

As something he had heard recently.

Not long before, Eleanor had come across the same name hidden in an old box full of letters.

"What was her connection to Ashcroft?"

Victor hesitated.

She got her job through a family contact.

"Who?"

"I never knew the full extent of it."

Benedict stepped closer.

"Did she know the child?"

"Yes."

"Who was the child?"

Victor looked at him.

"I told you. I didn't know."

"But you saw him."

"Yes."

"Then why didn't you ask?"

"Because everything happened too quickly."

Victor's voice became strained.

"The fire started. People were running. Smoke filled the corridor."

He closed his eyes.

"I saw Margaret carrying the child."

"What happened next?"

"She handed him to someone outside."

"Who?"

"I couldn't see."

Benedict's frustration grew.

"Then what happened to Margaret?"

Victor shook his head.

"She disappeared."

"When?"

"That same night."

Benedict went silent.

A woman carrying a child.

A fire.

A disappearance.

A sealed room.

More than two decades had passed, yet the truth still had the power to intimidate someone.

But there was one question he couldn't ignore.

"Why was the child in Room 17?"

Victor looked at him.

"I don't know."

"You keep saying that."

"Because there are things I genuinely don't know."

Victor's voice broke slightly.

"But there is one thing I do know."

"What?"

"The child was important."

"How?"

"I don't know."

Benedict stared at him.

Victor looked away.

"That's the truth."

Outside the study, Eleanor returned to the library.

The name on the paper continued to trouble her.

Margaret Vale.

She searched through the old correspondence.

Nothing.

Then she remembered an old photograph album.

She opened a cabinet and pulled it down.

Page after page showed Ashcroft family events.

Birthdays.

Charity dinners.

Business celebrations.

Then...

Eleanor stopped.

There she was.

Margaret Vale, just a young girl, was standing a few feet away from Victor.

Eleanor's fingers trembled.

She turned the photograph over.

Nothing was written on the back.

But beside Margaret stood another woman.

Someone Eleanor recognized immediately.

Her own younger self.

Why had she never remembered Margaret?

Eleanor studied the picture.

Then noticed something in Margaret's arms.

A small child.

The photograph was too distant to identify him.

But the date was visible.

Twenty-four years ago.

Eleanor's breathing became shallow.

She quickly picked up her phone and took a picture of it.

Then called Victor.

He didn't answer.

She tried again.

Still nothing.

Finally, she sent a message.

Victor, I found Margaret.

Back in the study...

Benedict's phone vibrated.

He looked down.

A message from Eleanor.

Come to the library. Now.

Benedict looked at Victor.

"I need to go."

Victor's expression changed.

"Why?"

"My mother wants to see me."

Victor nodded.

As Benedict reached the door, Victor called out to him.

"Benedict."

He turned.

"Don't trust every memory you recover."

Benedict studied him.

"Why?"

"Because sometimes people remember what they were told to remember."

Benedict's eyes narrowed.

"And sometimes people forget what they were told to forget."

Victor said nothing.

Benedict left.

Eleanor was waiting in the library.

She held the photograph tightly.

When Benedict entered, she immediately closed the door.

"What's wrong?"

She showed him the photograph.

Benedict stared.

Margaret.

Victor.

Eleanor.

And the child.

He stepped closer.

"Who is she?"

"Margaret Vale."

Benedict's heart began beating faster.

"I just heard that name."

"From Victor?"

"Yes."

Eleanor looked at him.

"What did he say?"

Benedict hesitated.

"He saw her the night of the fire."

Eleanor's face went pale.

"What?"

He said she was having a baby and had just walked out of room 17.

Eleanor looked at the photograph again.

The child.

She had been there.

She had been standing in the same place.

Yet she remembered almost nothing.

"I was there," she whispered.

Benedict looked at her.

"You remember?"

"No."

Eleanor touched her temple.

"I remember the photograph."

"Nothing else?"

"Just fragments."

She closed her eyes.

A corridor.

Smoke.

Someone is crying.

A woman shouting.

Then a child's voice.

"Ben..."

Eleanor opened her eyes.

Benedict froze.

"What did you say?"

"I don't know."

"You said 'Ben.'"

"I heard someone say it."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

Benedict stared at the photograph.

The room suddenly felt smaller.

But he refused to draw the conclusion his mind was trying to make.

There were still too many missing pieces.

Then Eleanor noticed something behind the photograph.

On the back of the first image, there was another picture attached.

She carefully pulled it free.

It showed the eastern wing.

But unlike the recent photograph Benedict had received...

This one had been taken twenty-four years ago.

A small figure stood near the entrance.

Someone had circled the child in red ink.

Beneath the photograph was a handwritten sentence.

If they find him, everything ends.

Eleanor's hand began to shake.

Benedict took the photograph.

"Who wrote this?"

"I don't know."

He turned it over.

There was one final mark.

The same circle crossed by a line.

The symbol.

Benedict looked at Eleanor.

"Someone wanted this hidden."

She nodded.

"Yes."

"And someone still does."

Before either could say anything else...

The lights went out.

The library fell into darkness.

Eleanor gasped.

Benedict immediately stepped in front of her.

"Stay behind me."

A sound came from the corridor.

A door opened

Then footsteps.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Coming toward them.

Benedict reached for his phone.

No signal.

The footsteps stopped outside the library.

Silence.

Suddenly, a piece of paper appeared, sliding quietly beneath the door.

Benedict picked it up.

Four words were written across it.

Stop looking for the boy.

Eleanor covered her mouth.

Benedict stared at the message.

The question he had been afraid to ask had finally become unavoidable.

Who was the boy?

What was it about Benedict that still had someone so spooked, even now, that he might recall their encounter?

Outside the library...

The footsteps disappeared.

But it turned out the person who gave the warning had made a mistake.

The mystery still had the boy from Room 17 right at its center, and this had just been confirmed.

And Benedict was no longer willing to walk away.