THE SON THEY BURIED WAS THEIR ONLY HEIR

Chapter Thirty Two: The Price of Independence

Benedict had never imagined freedom would feel this uncertain.

He sat alone in a small café several miles from Ashcroft Manor, watching the morning traffic move beyond the window.

For years, every morning had belonged to someone else.

Ashcroft meetings.

Board decisions.

Financial reports.

Crisis calls.

Now there was only silence.

His silence.

Benedict opened his notebook.

Three words were written across the first page.

Ashcroft. Vandross. Ashfall.

He stared at them.

There had to be a connection.

The question was how deep it went.

His phone vibrated.

A message from Mara.

I found something. We need to talk.

Benedict finished his coffee and left.

Mara was waiting at Cole Strategic Advisory, surrounded by a stack of documents.

"You found Ashfall?"

"Part of it."

She pushed a file across the desk.

Benedict opened it.

There were records from three companies that had ties to Vandross Capital inside.

Mara pointed out that these companies were bought at different times. However, their money all went through the same private financial system eventually. This network was used by all of them, even though they were acquired separately.

Benedict studied the transactions.

"Where?"

"Ashfall Consulting."

He looked up.

"I thought Ashfall was dissolved."

"It was."

"When?"

"Years ago."

"Then how is money still moving through it?"

Mara shook her head.

"That's what I can't explain."

Benedict looked at the records again.

Someone had kept the company alive without keeping it publicly visible.

"Who controlled it?"

The issue is that the ownership records have been altered multiple times, which is causing the problem.

"Can you find the original owner?"

"I'm trying."

Benedict closed the file.

"Keep looking."

Mara nodded.

Then she handed him another document.

"This is why I asked you to come."

Benedict opened it.

It was a short instruction.

Offer Benedict Ashcroft a position.

His eyes narrowed.

"When was this written?"

"Two weeks before you left Ashcroft Manor."

Benedict slowly looked up.

"So someone expected me to leave."

"Apparently."

"Who sent it?"

"We don't know."

Benedict leaned back.

That frightened him more than the financial records.

Someone hadn't simply reacted to his departure.

Someone had anticipated it.

At Ashcroft Group...

Damian stood before the board.

The western division's largest client had requested an emergency meeting.

The client sat across from him.

"We respect Ashcroft Group," the man said.

Damian nodded.

"But our relationship was built around Benedict."

"I understand."

"You know how difficult it is to replace someone like him."

Damian remained calm.

"I do."

The man studied him.

"Can you handle the account?"

Damian could have answered confidently.

Instead, he chose honesty.

"I don't know yet."

Several board members shifted uncomfortably.

Damian continued.

"But I'm willing to prove myself."

The client raised an eyebrow.

"How?"

"Give me forty-eight hours."

"And if you fail?"

"You take your business elsewhere."

The room went silent.

Finally, the client nodded.

"Forty-eight hours."

The meeting ended.

Damian remained seated.

Victor approached him.

"You could have promised them anything."

Damian shook his head.

I don't want to be like someone who thinks they have all the answers, I want to learn and grow, not just pretend I already know it all.

Victor studied his son.

That's the first time you've made sense all week.

Damian smiled.

"I'll take that as encouragement."

Victor placed a hand on his shoulder.

"It is."

But when Victor walked away...

His smile disappeared.

Because he knew something Damian didn't.

Benedict's absence was already being felt everywhere.

At Ashcroft Manor...

Eleanor sat in the library.

The old letters were spread before her.

She took another look at them, comparing the handwriting to Victor's real writing.

The differences were small.

But they were there.

Someone had imitated him.

Someone had wanted her to believe Victor had betrayed her.

Victor had thought the same about her too.

Their relationship hadn't ended because they stopped loving each other.

It was over, not because it had actually ended, but because someone had convinced them that it had.

Eleanor's eyes filled with tears.

"Why?"

She opened the oldest letter.

Something slipped from beneath it.

A small piece of paper.

She picked it up.

There was only one sentence.

He was never supposed to know.

Eleanor stared at the words.

Who was he?

Victor?

Benedict?

Someone else?

A knock sounded.

She quickly folded the paper.

"Come in."

Clara entered with tea.

"Madam."

Eleanor watched her carefully.

"Clara..."

"Yes?"

"Did you ever hear anything about the letters Victor and I received when we were young?"

Clara's expression remained calm.

"No, Madam."

"Nothing at all?"

"Nothing."

Eleanor nodded.

"Thank you."

Clara turned toward the door.

Then stopped.

Eleanor noticed something around her wrist.

A thin silver bracelet.

There was a small symbol engraved on it.

A circle crossed by a line.

Eleanor's heart skipped.

She had seen that symbol before.

On one of the old documents.

"Clara."

The woman turned.

"Yes?"

"Where did you get that bracelet?"

Clara instinctively covered her wrist.

"It belonged to my mother."

Eleanor smiled politely.

"I see."

Clara left.

The moment the door closed...

Eleanor's expression changed.

She looked down at the old letters.

Then at the closed door.

Something was wrong.

She could feel it.

That evening...

Benedict returned to his hotel.

The city was beginning to darken.

He placed Mara's documents on the table.

Then he noticed something.

His suitcase was open.

He froze.

He had locked it before leaving.

He checked the contents.

Nothing appeared missing.

A picture had been left on his clothes.

Ashcroft Manor.

The photo was shot from outside the entrance.

Benedict recognized the moment immediately.

It was the day he left.

He was standing beside his single suitcase.

His face hardened.

Someone had been watching him.

He turned the photograph over.

Five words were written across the back.

You should have stayed.

Benedict stared at the message.

His phone rang.

Unknown number.

He answered.

"Who is this?"

A man's voice replied,

"You are asking questions you shouldn't ask."

Benedict's expression remained cold.

"Then perhaps someone should give me answers."

A quiet laugh came through the phone.

"You have no idea what you're looking for."

"Then enlighten me."

Silence.

The caller ended the conversation.

Benedict lowered the phone.

He looked at the photograph again.

For years, people had told him what was best for him.

What he should believe.

Where he belonged.

When to speak.

When to leave.

This time...

He would make his own decision.

He placed the photograph inside his jacket.

Then picked up his car keys.

He was going to find Ashfall.

And whoever had spent years hiding it.

The highway leading out of town was pretty deserted.

Benedict drove beneath the fading evening light, his mind fixed on one question.

Who was Ashfall?

Mara had found the financial trail.

Someone had deliberately hidden it.

Now, a voice was cautioning him to turn away.

That was enough.

He wasn't going to stop.

Benedict finally arrived at the address Mara had provided, nearly two hours after he set out.

The building stood alone at the edge of an industrial district.

The sign above the entrance was almost unreadable.

ASHFALL ARCHIVE.

Benedict parked across the street.

He didn't get out immediately.

The place looked abandoned.

No lights.

No security.

No vehicles.

Yet something about it felt wrong.

His phone vibrated.

A message from Mara.

Watch out, the records show that the archive has been closed for years.

Benedict replied:

Then why is the door unlocked?

There was no response.

He stepped out of the car.

The air inside the building was thick with the smell of dust and old paper.

Benedict switched on his flashlight.

Rows of shelves stretched into the darkness.

Most were empty.

Several boxes remained.

He followed the reference number that Mara had given to him.

After several minutes, he found a cabinet marked with an old Ashfall symbol.

The lock was broken.

Benedict opened it.

Inside were financial records.

Nothing unusual.

Until he found a thin folder hidden beneath them.

There was no company name.

Only a handwritten word.

BEN.

He stopped.

His pulse quickened.

Slowly, he opened it.

Inside were several old photographs.

A young woman.

A little boy.

A birthday cake.

Benedict stared at the child's face.

Something moved inside him.

A faint memory.

A warm room.

A woman's voice.

"Ben..."

He closed his eyes.

The memory disappeared.

Benedict opened them again.

He didn't understand what it meant.

And he refused to assume.

He turned the next photograph over.

Nothing.

The next.

Nothing.

Then he found a short handwritten note.

Some truths must remain hidden until the right time.

Benedict frowned.

There was no name.

No explanation.

Just the sentence.

He placed it back.

Then I heard footsteps.

He froze.

Someone was inside.

A man's voice came from the corridor.

"Check the archive room."

Another voice answered.

"There's nothing here."

Benedict switched off his flashlight.

The footsteps came closer.

He moved quietly behind a shelf.

Two shadows passed across the floor.

One man entered the room.

He searched the nearest cabinet.

Then stopped.

"Someone has been here."

Benedict remained completely still.

The man reached toward the folder.

Then his phone rang.

He answered.

"Yes?"

A pause.

"Understood."

He turned to leave.

Before stepping outside, he looked around once more.

Then disappeared.

Benedict waited.

Thirty seconds.

One minute.

He grabbed the folder and headed out the back door.

Outside...

The air felt colder.

Benedict walked toward his car.

His phone rang.

Mara.

"Where are you?"

"Leaving the archive."

"Did you find anything?"

"Some records."

"Anything about Ashfall?"

It's comforting to think that someone still values what's inside that building, and that it's not just a forgotten space.

Mara became quiet.

Then said,

"Benedict, I need to tell you something."

"What?"

"I checked the old employee records again."

"And?"

"There are missing years."

Benedict stopped walking.

"Whose records?"

"Yours."

He said nothing.

Mara continued.

"The gaps aren't normal. Someone removed the original records."

"Can you recover them?"

"Possibly."

"How?"

"There's an old backup system."

"Where?"

"Former Ashcroft administrator's private server."

Benedict frowned.

"Who owns it now?"

"We're trying to find out."

"Then find out."

"I will."

The call ended.

Benedict looked at the archive building.

His past had become a locked room.

And every answer seemed to lead to another locked door.

At Ashcroft Manor...

Victor stood in his study.

Eleanor entered carrying the old letters.

"We need to talk."

Victor looked at her.

"About Benedict?"

"About everything."

She placed the letters on the desk.

"I found something."

She showed him the note.

He was never supposed to know.

Victor's face changed.

"Where did you find that?"

"Inside the letters."

He picked it up.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Eleanor watched him.

"You know what it means."

"I have a suspicion."

"Tell me."

Victor looked toward the window.

"When we were young, I received a warning."

Eleanor's voice became quiet.

"What warning?"

"That someone was watching us."

"Who?"

"I never knew."

She stared at him.

"And you never told me?"

"I thought it was connected to the letters."

"And now?"

Victor looked down at the note.

"Now I'm not sure."

Eleanor's heart tightened.

"Do you think someone is watching Benedict?"

Victor didn't answer.

The silence was more terrifying to her than if he had simply said yes.

Later that night...

Benedict returned to his hotel.

He put the old folder down on the table, it had been stored away in the archive.

He opened it again.

The photographs were still there.

He took a close look at the picture of the young woman and the boy.

There was something familiar about the woman's smile.

He couldn't explain why.

He turned the photograph over.

This time, he caught sight of a faint mark tucked away in the corner.

A date.

Twenty-four years ago.

Benedict stared at it.

Then remembered something Victor had once said.

Some things are better left in the past.

He had always assumed Victor meant family conflicts.

Now he wasn't sure.

His phone vibrated.

An unknown message appeared.

You found the archive.

Benedict's expression hardened.

Another message arrived.

That was your first warning.

He waited.

A third message appeared.

The next one will be closer.

Benedict looked toward the hotel door.

Nothing.

He locked it.

Then returned to the photograph.

For the first time, fear gave way to determination.

Whoever was behind this had one advantage.

They knew his past.

Benedict had only questions.

But questions could become answers.

He placed the photograph carefully inside the folder.

Then whispered,

"I'll find out."

Across the city...

A man sat alone in a dark office.

A photograph of Benedict lay before him.

Beside it was an old file.

The man opened it.

Inside was a single handwritten name.

He looked at it for several seconds.

Then closed the file.

"He's finally looking."

The room remained silent.

The man smiled faintly.

"Let him."

Benedict had finally started to understand what was really going on, he had taken that very first step towards discovering the truth.

And whoever had buried that truth...

He was getting ready for the day when he would finally discover it.