THE SON THEY BURIED WAS THEIR ONLY HEIR

Chapter Thirty Six: The Name Hidden Behind the Silence -

The lights returned three minutes later.

But the silence inside the library remained.

Benedict stood beside Eleanor, still holding the note.

Stop looking for the boy.

He read it once more.

Then folded it carefully.

Eleanor watched him.

"They know we're here."

"Yes."

"They know what we're searching for."

"Yes."

Her voice trembled.

"Then how much do they know?"

Benedict looked at her.

"Enough to be afraid."

Eleanor lowered her eyes.

For years, she had believed the past was something that had happened and ended.

Now she understood.

It had never ended.

It had simply waited.

Victor entered the library moments later.

"What happened?"

Eleanor looked at him.

"Someone left this."

She handed him the note.

Victor read it.

His face immediately hardened.

"Where did you find it?"

"Under the door."

Victor looked toward the corridor.

"Did you see anyone?"

"No."

Benedict studied him.

"You knew someone was watching us."

Victor looked at him.

"I suspected."

"That's not enough anymore."

Victor sighed.

"I know."

Eleanor stepped forward.

"Victor, we found another photograph."

She pulled out an old picture, one that was taken twenty-four years ago, and handed it to him to see.

The moment Victor saw it...

He froze.

"You kept this?"

Eleanor frowned.

"Kept it?"

Victor didn't answer.

Benedict noticed.

"Father."

Victor looked at him.

"Where did this photograph come from?"

"Inside the old album."

Victor stared at the child circled in red.

His voice became quiet.

"I haven't seen that photograph in twenty-four years."

"Then you know who took it."

"Yes."

"Who?"

Victor swallowed.

"Harold Vance."

Benedict's eyes narrowed.

"Why would an investigator photograph a child?"

Victor looked at the image.

"Because that child was the reason he believed the fire wasn't an accident."

The room became silent.

Eleanor stepped closer.

"What did Harold think?"

Victor hesitated.

He thought someone had done it on purpose, to get rid of some important clues.

Benedict looked at the photograph.

"What evidence?"

Victor shook his head.

"We never found out."

"Never?"

"Most of the records were destroyed."

Benedict's voice hardened.

"Most?"

Victor looked away.

"Some were missing before the fire."

Benedict immediately understood.

"Someone removed them."

"Yes."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

Benedict's patience was wearing thin.

"You always say that."

"Because I don't have another answer."

Eleanor looked between them.

"What about Margaret?"

Victor became still.

"What about her?"

"Why was she carrying the child?"

"I don't know."

"Did she work for Ashcroft?"

Victor nodded.

"She worked in the household."

Eleanor frowned.

"I don't remember her."

"You weren't supposed to."

Eleanor stared at him.

"What does that mean?"

Victor hesitated.

"After the fire, people were told not to speak about that night."

"Who told them?"

Victor looked at Benedict.

The one in charge, who made sure everyone listened and did what they were told.

Benedict's expression changed.

"Who?"

Victor didn't answer.

Instead, he walked toward the window.

When I was younger, I thought that doing what I was told would keep me safe.

Eleanor's voice became soft.

"And now?"

Victor looked back.

Sometimes staying quiet can actually help someone who doesn't deserve it.

Later that morning...

Damian sat alone in his office.

The paper that Harold Vance had handed over was still sitting on his desk.

He had read it several times.

There was something about it he couldn't explain.

Benedict's signature appeared on the page.

The document had a date on it that was from years before Benedict was supposed to have gotten involved with the Ashcroft family, which seemed a bit strange.

Damian frowned.

That shouldn't have been possible.

He reached for the phone.

Then stopped.

If he went to his dad, Victor, he might not get any answers.

If he asked Benedict...

Benedict might think he was interfering.

Damian stared at the document.

He had spent years believing Benedict was simply the more capable man who had helped him become ready for the company.

He was suddenly unsure about Benedict's role in the family; it didn't seem to make sense to him anymore.

His assistant knocked.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"There's a visitor."

"Who?"

"A woman."

"Did she give a name?"

"No."

Damian looked toward the door.

"Send her in."

A woman in her late fifties entered.

She held a small handbag against her chest.

As soon as she walked in, her gaze fell on the paper that was lying on Damian's desk.

Then to his face.

"You're Victor Ashcroft's son."

"Yes."

She swallowed.

"I knew your family many years ago."

Damian stood.

"Who are you?"

The woman hesitated.

"My name is Margaret."

Damian's expression changed.

"Margaret what?"

She didn't answer.

Instead, she looked at the document.

"Where did you get that?"

"Someone gave it to me."

"Who?"

"Harold Vance."

The woman's face went pale.

"Harold is still alive?"

Damian nodded.

"He is."

She took a slow breath.

"Then you need to find him."

"Why?"

"Because he knows what happened."

"What happened?"

The woman looked toward the door.

Then lowered her voice.

"The night of the fire."

Damian stepped closer.

"What do you know?"

She looked directly into his eyes.

"Your family was told the wrong story."

Before Damian could ask another question...

She turned and walked out.

He followed her into the corridor.

But she was already gone.

Damian stopped.

His heart was pounding.

The mystery that Benedict was trying to figure out had now started to affect him personally.

And he had no idea why.

That afternoon...

Benedict met Mara outside the city.

She handed him a folder.

"I found another piece of the personnel records."

He opened it.

There was an old photograph attached.

A group of Ashcroft employees.

Benedict recognized several faces.

Then his eyes stopped.

Margaret.

She stood near the back.

Beside her was Harold Vance.

And between them...

A small boy.

Benedict stared at the photograph.

He couldn't see the child's face clearly.

There was something about the picture that didn't feel right;t, it made his heart feel heavy, and his chest feel tight.

Mara watched him carefully.

"Do you know him?"

Benedict shook his head.

"No."

But deep inside...

A faint memory had already begun to surface.

A woman's hand.

A birthday cake.

A warm voice.

And one word.

Ben.

He closed the folder.

"We need to find Margaret."

Mara nodded.

"I'll start."

Benedict looked at the photograph one last time.

Someone had spent twenty-four years hiding this child.

Now Benedict was beginning to understand why.

The problem was...

He still didn't know whether he was searching for someone else—

or for a part of himself.

Margaret had disappeared before Mara could find her.

No address.

No phone number.

No employment record under her current name.

It was as if she had never existed.

Benedict stared at the information on Mara's laptop.

"How can someone disappear that completely?"

Mara shook her head.

"They can't."

"Then?"

"Someone helped."

Benedict leaned back.

"Find out who."

"I'll try."

"No."

Mara looked at him.

"Don't search publicly."

"Why?"

"Whoever deleted her files will be aware that we are searching for them."

Mara nodded.

"Then where do we start?"

Benedict looked at the photograph.

"Harold Vance."

That evening, Damian went back to the document Harold had given him.

He took a closer look at the signature and then compared it to some other papers that had Benedict's name on them.

They matched.

But the date still bothered him.

He called Benedict.

No answer.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

Then Victor called.

"Damian."

"Father, I need to ask you something."

"What?"

"How long have you known Harold Vance?"

Silence.

Damian's expression changed.

"Father?"

"I knew him a long time ago."

"Did he work for Ashcroft?"

"Yes."

"Why did he leave?"

Victor sighed.

"That isn't important."

"It is to me."

"Damian..."

"I was given an old document today."

Victor became quiet.

"What document?"

"One connected to the eastern wing."

Victor's voice changed.

"Where is it?"

"With me."

"Don't show it to anyone."

Damian frowned.

"Why?"

"Because you don't understand what it means."

"Then explain it."

Another silence.

Finally, Victor said,

"Come home."

Damian arrived at the manor shortly afterward.

Victor was waiting in the study.

The moment Damian entered, Victor locked the door.

"What happened?"

Damian placed the document on the desk.

Victor looked at it.

His face became pale.

"Where did you get this?"

"I told you."

"Harold gave it to you?"

"Yes."

Victor closed his eyes.

"Then he wants you to know."

"Know what?"

Victor sat down.

"That the past isn't finished."

Damian stared at him.

"What happened twenty-four years ago?"

Victor looked at his son.

"I don't know everything."

"But you know something."

"Yes."

"Then tell me."

Victor hesitated.

"There was a child."

Damian's eyes narrowed.

"The child from Room 17?"

Victor nodded.

Damian looked at the document.

"Who was he?"

"We never found out."

"Did Benedict know?"

Victor's expression changed.

"Why are you asking about Benedict?"

"Because everything seems to lead back to him."

Victor didn't answer.

Damian studied his father's face.

"Father..."

"What?"

"Was Benedict connected to that night?"

Victor looked away.

"I don't know."

Damian didn't believe him.

Just as he was about to ask more questions, his phone suddenly buzzed in his hand.

A message.

Stop asking questions about Benedict.

Damian stared at the screen.

Victor noticed.

"What is it?"

Damian showed him.

Victor's face hardened.

"They're watching you too."

Meanwhile...

Benedict stood outside the old Ashcroft cemetery.

Mara had managed to track down one last record that was linked to Margaret.

A burial plot.

But there was nobody.

Only a name.

Margaret Vale.

Benedict stared at the empty grave.

"Why would someone create a grave for a person who wasn't buried here?"

Mara stood beside him.

"Maybe they wanted everyone to believe she was dead."

Benedict looked at the stone.

"Or maybe she needed to disappear."

A cold breeze moved through the trees.

Then Benedict noticed something.

A little metal plate was put under the headstone.

He crouched.

There was a date.

And beneath it...

The same symbol.

The circle crossed by a line.

Benedict touched it.

A sudden memory struck him.

A hallway.

A woman's hand.

Smoke.

Someone carrying him.

Then a voice.

"Don't let them find him."

Benedict pulled his hand away.

He staggered backward.

Mara caught his arm.

"Benedict!"

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

He pressed his fingers against his temple.

The memory was already disappearing.

But one detail remained.

The woman's voice.

He had heard it before.

Not in the archive.

Not in the photograph.

Somewhere much closer.

He whispered,

"Margaret."

Back at Ashcroft Manor...

Eleanor sat alone in the library.

The old photograph was still in her hands.

She turned it over again.

The handwritten message remained visible.

If they find him, everything ends.

She studied the child's blurred face.

Then another memory surfaced.

Not enough to identify him.

Only a moment.

She was standing beside Margaret.

The child was crying.

Eleanor remembered reaching for him.

Then Victor had grabbed her arm.

"Don't."

The memory vanished.

Eleanor gasped.

She stood quickly.

Victor entered the room.

"Eleanor?"

She looked at him.

"I remember."

Victor stopped.

"What?"

"The night of the fire."

His face went pale.

"What do you remember?"

"Margaret was carrying a child."

Victor said nothing.

"I reached for him."

"Eleanor..."

"You stopped me."

Victor closed his eyes.

"I was trying to protect you."

"From what?"

"I didn't know."

"Then why did you stop me?"

Victor looked at her.

"Because someone told me that if we interfered..."

He paused.

"...people would die."

Eleanor stared at him.

"Who told you?"

Victor didn't answer.

She stepped closer.

"Victor."

His voice became almost a whisper.

"The person who controlled everything."

That night...

Benedict returned to his hotel.

He placed the cemetery photograph beside the others.

He had spent years believing his memories were broken because of some accident.

Now he wasn't certain.

Perhaps someone had broken them deliberately.

His phone rang.

Unknown number.

He answered.

"Hello?"

A woman's voice came through.

Older.

Tired.

Frightened.

"Benedict."

He froze.

"Who is this?"

"You don't know me."

"Then how do you know my name?"

The woman breathed shakily.

"Because I knew you before you became Benedict."

His heart stopped.

"What did you call me?"

Silence.

Then she whispered one word.

"Ben."

The line went dead.

Benedict stood motionless.

For a long time, that name would only pop up in little bits and pieces.

A memory.

A photograph.

A fading voice.

Now someone had spoken it directly.

He immediately called the number back.

It was unavailable.

Benedict looked at the photographs scattered across the table.

The child.

Margaret.

The fire.

Room 17.

And the name Ben.

He didn't know the truth yet.

But he finally understood something.

Someone wasn't simply hiding his past.

Someone had been waiting for him to remember it.

And the person who had just called...

might be the first person willing to tell him why.