THE SON THEY BURIED WAS THEIR ONLY HEIR

Chapter Thirty Four: : The Door That Was Never Meant to Open

Benedict just sat there, his eyes fixed on his phone, even though the call was already over.

Number 17.

The words echoed in his mind.

The same number from the archive.

The same number connected to the old records.

And now...

The administrator had apparently left instructions concerning it.

Benedict picked up his jacket.

He needed answers.

Just as he was about to go, a new message popped up from Mara.

Don't go to Ashcroft Manor yet.

Benedict frowned.

He called her.

She answered immediately.

"Why?"

"I found another record."

"What kind?"

"Property records."

Benedict waited.

There was an old storage place that belonged to the Ashcroft Group.

"Where?"

"On the eastern side of the estate."

His expression changed.

"The manor?"

"Yes."

"Is it still there?"

It's been closed for years, if you look back at the records.

"Why?"

"I don't know."

Benedict looked toward the window.

"Can you find out?"

"I'm trying."

"Do it."

He ended the call.

The answer was getting closer.

And somehow...

He was being led back to the place he had only just come from.

At Ashcroft Manor...

Eleanor stood outside the library window.

The broken glass had been cleaned.

The photograph was gone.

Victor had taken it.

Eleanor just couldn't shake off the message that was written on the back, it kept playing in her mind.

He remembered nothing.

She turned when Victor entered.

"Where is the photograph?"

"Locked away."

"Why?"

I'd rather keep it to myself.

Eleanor crossed her arms.

"Someone threw it through our window."

"I know."

"They wanted us to find it."

Victor said nothing.

"Then why are you acting as though we should ignore it?"

"I'm not."

He walked toward the fireplace.

"There are things about the past I thought were buried."

Eleanor's voice softened.

"Are they?"

Victor looked at her.

"No."

"Then tell me."

He hesitated.

"There was a room."

Eleanor's eyes narrowed.

"Room 17."

Victor nodded.

"What was inside?"

"I don't know."

"You just said there was a room."

"There was."

"Then why don't you know?"

"Because I was ordered not to enter it."

Eleanor stared at him.

"Ordered by whom?"

Victor looked away.

"Someone I trusted."

The answer unsettled her.

"Who?"

Victor didn't respond.

Instead, he walked toward a cabinet.

He unlocked it.

Inside was an old key.

Eleanor's breath caught.

"Another key?"

Victor picked it up.

"This one opens the eastern storage wing."

"Room 17?"

He shook his head.

"Not exactly."

"Then what does it open?"

Victor looked at the key.

"I don't remember."

Eleanor stepped closer.

"Victor..."

"I was young."

"So was I."

"I thought I was protecting you."

"From what?"

Victor's eyes met hers.

"The truth."

Across the city...

Damian was reviewing the final contract when his assistant entered.

"Sir, there's someone here to see you."

"Who?"

"He wouldn't give a name."

Damian frowned.

"Send him in."

An elderly man entered.

He had on a dark coat and was carrying one of those old leather briefcases.

"I knew your father."

Damian stood.

"What's your name?"

"Harold Vance."

Damian didn't recognize it.

"What do you want?"

An elderly gentleman put a piece of paper down on the table.

I wanted to give this to you now, before time runs out and it's too late.

Damian opened it.

His expression changed.

It was an old Ashcroft Group document.

Benedict's signature appeared near the bottom.

"When was this signed?"

"Years ago."

"What is it?"

"A transfer authorization."

Damian looked up.

"Transfer of what?"

The old man shook his head.

"That's what you need to find out."

Damian's eyes narrowed.

"Why bring it to me?"

"Because Benedict isn't there anymore."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Harold stood.

"Your brother trusted the wrong people."

Damian froze.

"Brother?"

The old man seemed to realize his mistake.

He immediately closed the briefcase.

"I should go."

Damian moved toward the door.

"Wait."

But Harold was already leaving.

Damian looked back at the document.

One sentence caught his attention.

Restricted access — Eastern Storage Wing.

His expression hardened.

The eastern wing.

The same place connected to Room 17.

Later that evening...

Benedict returned to Mara's office.

She had several files spread across the table.

"I found the storage records."

"Show me."

Mara pointed to an old property map.

The eastern part of the building was first made to store old records and documents.

"Why was it sealed?"

"After a fire."

Benedict looked at the date.

"When?"

Mara answered.

"Twenty-four years ago."

He went still.

The same period.

Again.

Twenty-four years.

The photograph.

The missing records.

The old warning.

The fire.

Everything seemed to circle the same year.

"What happened?"

"Officially, an electrical fault."

"Casualties?"

"None."

Benedict looked at her.

"None?"

"That's what the report says."

He didn't believe it.

"Who investigated the fire?"

Mara handed him another file.

"An independent investigator."

Benedict read the name.

Then stopped.

He recognized it.

The surname was the same as the man who had brought the old document to Damian.

"Harold Vance."

Mara nodded.

"You know him?"

"No."

"But you've seen the name."

"Yes."

Benedict closed the file.

"Find out everything about him."

Mara looked concerned.

"You think he's involved?"

"I think too many things are pointing in the same direction."

Benedict looked at the property map.

The eastern wing.

Room 17.

The sealed archive.

And a fire from twenty-four years ago.

Someone had tried to erase something there.

But if the records were destroyed...

Why was someone still afraid of them?

That night...

Benedict stood outside his hotel.

As he walked back to his car, he noticed something stuck under the windshield wiper - a small, folded piece of paper, just waiting to be found.

He pulled it free.

Three words were written across it.

Don't open it.

Benedict stared at the message.

He looked around.

The parking lot was empty.

Then his phone vibrated.

A photograph appeared on the screen.

It showed Ashcroft Manor.

More specifically...

The eastern wing.

Benedict's eyes narrowed.

A second message appeared.

Some doors were sealed for a reason.

Benedict slowly folded the note.

For as long as he could remember, people had been deciding for him where he fit in.

Then someone had forced him out.

They were now warning him about certain doors that were off-limits, telling him which ones he shouldn't even think about opening.

Benedict looked toward the dark city.

For the first time...

He smiled.

"Then that's exactly where I'm going."

Benedict didn't drive to Ashcroft Manor that night.

He wanted to.

Every instinct told him to go straight to the eastern wing and discover what had been hidden there.

But instinct wasn't evidence.

And whoever was leaving messages knew exactly how to provoke him.

Instead, Benedict returned to his hotel.

He put the picture of the east side next to the old papers.

Then he called Mara.

"Did you find anything about Harold Vance?"

"Not much."

"What does that mean?"

He used to work as an investigator for the Ashcroft Group about 24 years ago.

"Twenty-four years ago again."

"Yes."

"What happened to him?"

"He resigned shortly after the eastern-wing fire."

Benedict frowned.

"Why?"

"That's unclear."

"Find out."

"I've already requested the old personnel records."

"Good."

There was a pause.

Then Mara said,

"Benedict..."

"What?"

"The file says Vance wasn't alone during the investigation."

"Who was with him?"

"Victor Ashcroft."

Benedict went silent.

Of course.

Victor again.

The same year.

The same fire.

The same hidden records.

But there was still one question Benedict couldn't answer.

Why had no one ever told him?

At Ashcroft Manor...

Victor stood in the study holding the old key.

Eleanor watched him.

"You remember now."

Victor shook his head.

"I remember pieces."

"Then tell me the pieces."

He looked at the key.

After the fire had been put out, someone told me that I had to make sure the eastern part of the building was closed off.

"By whom?"

"I don't know."

"You must know."

"I was young, Eleanor."

"So was I."

Victor looked at her.

"I thought I was protecting our family."

"And did you?"

His silence answered her.

Eleanor stepped closer.

"What was in Room 17?"

"I never opened it."

"Why?"

"Because I was told there was nothing left."

Eleanor stared at him.

"Then why seal the wing?"

Victor looked toward the window.

"Because someone was afraid I would find something."

Eleanor's heart tightened.

"Who?"

"I don't know."

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Eleanor asked quietly,

"Was Benedict connected to it?"

Victor looked at her.

"I don't know."

The answer frightened them both.

The following morning...

Damian placed Harold Vance's document on Victor's desk.

Victor read it.

His face changed.

"Where did you get this?"

"An old man brought it to me."

"What old man?"

"Harold Vance."

Victor slowly lowered the paper.

"He's alive?"

"You know him."

"I thought he was dead."

Damian's eyes narrowed.

"Why would you think that?"

Victor didn't answer.

"Father."

Victor looked at his son.

Sometimes people just vanish from your life without saying why.

Damian pushed the document toward him.

"This mentions the eastern storage wing."

Victor closed his eyes.

"I know."

"What's in there?"

"I told you."

"You don't know?"

"I don't."

Damian studied him.

It hit him for the first time - his dad was actually scared.

Not angry.

Not defensive.

Afraid.

"Then perhaps we should find out."

Victor looked at him sharply.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because some doors should remain closed."

Damian stood.

"That's what everyone keeps saying."

He picked up the document.

"But nobody has explained why."

That afternoon...

Benedict received a call from Mara.

"I found the original fire report."

He immediately answered.

"What does it say?"

"That's the problem."

"Tell me."

"There were two versions."

Benedict frowned.

"Two?"

"Yes."

The investigation found that a problem with the electricity was to blame for the fire.

"And the second?"

"Unknown cause."

Benedict's expression hardened.

"Who wrote the second report?"

"Harold Vance."

"Anything else?"

"One more detail."

"What?"

Mara hesitated.

The second report claims that the eastern wing still had people in it when the fire started.

Benedict went completely still.

"Who was inside?"

"We don't know."

"The report doesn't say?"

"No."

"Why?"

"It was removed from the final copy."

Benedict closed his eyes.

Again...

Someone had erased the important part.

"Send me the report."

"I will."

The call ended.

Benedict looked at the photograph.

The eastern wing.

The sealed room.

The fire.

The missing records.

And now...

Someone had been inside.

Twenty-four years ago.

He needed to know who.

That evening...

Eleanor returned to the library.

She opened the box.

The missing letter had still not returned.

But something else was different.

The small brass key was gone.

She immediately called Victor.

"Where is the key?"

"What key?"

"The one you showed me yesterday."

Victor went silent.

"I put it back in the cabinet."

"It isn't there."

"What?"

"I checked."

Victor hurried into the library.

The cabinet was open.

The key was gone.

Neither of them spoke.

Then Eleanor noticed something on the desk.

A single folded piece of paper.

She opened it.

Only one sentence.

You should have opened that door a long time ago, twenty-four years to be exact.

Victor's face became pale.

Eleanor looked at him.

"Someone has been inside."

He nodded.

"And they wanted us to know."

Across the city...

Benedict sat alone in his hotel room.

Mara had sent the report.

He opened it.

The first pages contained nothing useful.

Then he reached the final page.

A handwritten note had been attached.

Someone had already been taken away before anyone called to report the fire.

Benedict stared at the sentence.

Who?

The note contained no name.

Only a number.

17.

His phone vibrated.

An unknown message appeared.

Stop asking about the past.

Benedict stared at it.

Another message arrived.

You were not supposed to survive it.

He froze.

The words cut deeper than any warning or danger they had faced before.

Survive what?

He typed the question.

No answer came.

Instead, a final message appeared.

Ask Victor.

Benedict slowly lowered the phone.

For years, Victor had been the man who gave him a place to belong.

Now...

Victor might also be the man holding the key to the question Benedict had never known how to ask.

Benedict looked at the dark window.

Tomorrow, he will return to Ashcroft Manor.

Not as an employee.

Not as a son asking permission.

But as a man demanding the truth.

And this time...

He wanted to know what had happened twenty-four years ago, so he asked Victor about it.