THE SON THEY BURIED WAS THEIR ONLY HEIR

Chapter Twelve: Cracks in the Past

Morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of Ashcroft Manor.

Normally, Eleanor was the first person to greet the day with a smile.

Today...

She sat alone in the breakfast room.

A cup of tea rested untouched before her.

Her thoughts refused to settle.

Again and again...

Her mind returned to the letter she had discovered in the library.

The handwriting.

The words.

The strange feeling that something wasn't right.

She pressed her fingertips gently against her temple.

"Why does it feel like I'm remembering only half of my own life?"

Footsteps approached.

Victor entered the room.

He smiled warmly.

"You're awake early."

Eleanor forced a smile.

"I couldn't sleep."

Victor noticed the untouched tea.

"Still thinking about yesterday?"

She hesitated.

Then quietly nodded.

"The library brought back memories."

Victor pulled out the chair opposite her.

"So many years have passed."

"Some memories are better left where they are."

Eleanor looked at him for a long moment.

"Do you ever wonder..."

"...whether we misunderstood something back then?"

Victor's expression became thoughtful.

"What do you mean?"

She almost mentioned the letter.

Almost.

Instead...

She shook her head.

"Nothing."

"I suppose I'm just getting sentimental."

Victor reached across the table and gently squeezed her hand.

"We survived."

"That's what matters."

She smiled.

But deep inside...

She wasn't certain that was the whole truth.

At Ashcroft Group Headquarters...

Benedict was already reviewing the preliminary report on the chandelier incident.

The Chief of Security entered carrying another file.

We've finished interviewing everyone who worked in the west wing.

"And?"

No inconsistencies.

"No suspicious financial activity.

No unusual behavior.

Benedict closed the file in front of him.

"That's exactly what concerns me."

The Chief frowned.

"You expected to find something?"

"No."

I expected the person responsible to make sure we didn't.

The room fell silent.

The attack wasn't impulsive.

"It was planned."

Patiently.

Whoever we're dealing with...

"...has probably been inside our lives for much longer than we realize."

Damian, who had just entered the office, stopped in his tracks.

Those words lingered heavily in the air.

Later that afternoon...

Benedict walked through the executive floor with Damian.

Employees greeted them warmly.

But Damian noticed something different today.

Conversations stopped whenever Benedict passed.

Not because people feared him.

Because they respected him.

After he had walked by...

The conversations quietly resumed.

Damian smiled.

You've built quite a reputation.

Benedict looked puzzled.

I've simply worked here a long time.

"No."

Damian shook his head.

"Respect isn't measured in years.

It's measured in actions.

For the first time...

Benedict had no reply.

Meanwhile...

Across the city...

Inside the same penthouse office...

The elderly mastermind stood before a large wall map covered with photographs.

Ashcroft Manor.

Ashcroft Headquarters.

Several government buildings.

Every location was connected by thin red strings.

The younger man entered.

The chandelier failed.

The old man nodded calmly.

It wasn't supposed to succeed.

The younger man looked confused.

Wasn't it?

"No."

The old man's eyes remained fixed on Benedict's photograph.

I wanted to see how quickly he would understand.

And?

He understood immediately.

The old man smiled.

"Excellent."

The younger man frowned.

Are you pleased?

I'm measuring him.

He gently moved another chess piece across the board.

The stronger my opponent–

"...the more careful I must become."

He looked toward Benedict's photograph once more.

"For thirty years..."

I've prepared for this game.

I won't lose because of impatience.

That evening...

As Benedict returned to Ashcroft Manor...

He noticed something unusual.

Near the front gate stood an elderly woman.

Her clothes were old.

Her silver hair was tied neatly beneath a faded scarf.

She wasn't begging.

She wasn't asking for money.

She simply stood quietly...

Looking toward the mansion with tears in her eyes.

Benedict approached her politely.

"Madam..."

"Are you looking for someone?"

The elderly woman slowly turned.

The moment she saw Benedict...

Her walking stick slipped from her hand.

“Her eyes widened.”

Her lips trembled.

“Then, in a barely audible whisper, she said—”

"...Little Ben?"

“Benedict froze.”

The world around him seemed to stop.

The evening breeze swept gently across the entrance of Ashcroft Manor.

Benedict remained motionless.

"...Little Ben?"

The old woman's trembling voice barely rose above a whisper.

For a long moment...

Neither of them spoke.

Benedict finally bent down and picked up her walking stick.

"You must have mistaken me for someone else, Madam."

He handed it back with a gentle smile.

The old woman accepted it with shaking hands.

She looked into his face again.

Longer this time.

Her cloudy eyes searched every feature.

Then a sad smile slowly appeared.

"I'm sorry."

"My old eyes don't see as well as they used to."

Benedict nodded politely.

"It happens to all of us."

But as he turned to leave, the old woman quietly added,

"No..."

“I don't think I was mistaken.”

He paused.

Without looking back, he asked,

"Have we met before?"

“The old woman lowered her eyes.

Perhaps.”

Or perhaps...

I only met someone who smiled exactly like you.

Benedict turned around.

There was no fear in her face.

No hidden agenda.

Only the quiet sadness of someone remembering another lifetime.

Do you need any help?" he asked gently.

She hesitated.

I came here looking for work.

The orphanage where I volunteered closed last winter.

I've been taking care of children for most of my life."

Benedict's expression softened.

"The orphanage?"

She nodded.

"It wasn't much."

"But every child deserved someone who would remember their birthday."

Something stirred inside Benedict.

Just for an instant.

A faint memory.

A small birthday cake.

A warm voice singing.

Then...

Nothing.

The memory disappeared before he could grasp it.

A sharp ache spread through his temples.

He instinctively pressed two fingers against his forehead.

The old woman's face filled with concern.

"Are you all right?"

Benedict forced a reassuring smile.

"I'm fine."

"It was only a brief headache."

At that moment, the front gates opened.

The butler stepped outside.

Director Benedict.

"The Chairman is waiting for you."

Benedict nodded.

"I'll be there shortly."

He turned back toward the elderly woman.

Please wait here for a few minutes.

She looked surprised.

"Why?"

"I'd like to see whether there might be a position for you."

Her eyes widened.

"You would do that... for a stranger?"

Benedict smiled.

"Everyone is a stranger..."

"...until someone chooses kindness."

Tears gathered in the old woman's eyes.

She watched him walk toward the mansion.

Softly...

Almost to herself...

She whispered,

"You've grown exactly the way she prayed you would."

Benedict stopped halfway to the front door.

Something tightened in his chest.

He had spent most of his life believing he had come from nowhere.

Yet those words...

"...the way she prayed you would..."

sounded less like a stranger's mistake...

and more like a memory waiting to be remembered.

He almost turned back.

Almost.

But the butler was already waiting

Inside the manor...

Victor was already waiting in his study.

"You wanted to see me, Chairman?"

Victor gestured toward the chair opposite him.

"Sit."

Benedict obeyed.

Victor studied him for several seconds.

Finally, he spoke.

"The Board has made a decision."

Benedict waited calmly.

"They want Damian to begin attending shareholder meetings alone."

"I see."

"They also want you..."

Victor paused.

"...to step back from public leadership."

Silence filled the study.

Victor continued carefully.

"They believe the company should present one clear successor."

Benedict lowered his eyes.

"I understand."

Victor frowned.

"That's all you have to say?"

Benedict looked up again.

"If it helps Damian earn the confidence of the shareholders..."

"...then it's the right decision."

Victor searched his face.

Again...

No resentment.

No complaints.

Only quiet acceptance.

For reasons he couldn't explain...

That answer left Victor feeling more uncomfortable than if Benedict had argued.

Meanwhile...

Outside the manor...

The elderly woman remained standing near the gate.

A black luxury sedan slowed to a stop across the street.

Its windows were heavily tinted.

Inside...

The elderly mastermind watched silently.

Beside him sat the younger man.

"So..."

he murmured.

"She found him."

The younger man glanced toward the gate.

"Should we stop her?"

The old man slowly shook his head.

"No."

"Her memories are broken. Broken memories rarely frighten me."

His eyes remained fixed on Benedict as he disappeared into the mansion.

"But memories..."

"...have a habit of waking one another."

He rested a hand on his silver cane.

"Keep watching."

"If she gets too close to the truth..."

"...we'll deal with it."

The sedan pulled away without another sound.

That night...

Benedict returned to his room long after everyone else had gone to bed.

The manor was silent.

Moonlight spilled through the window.

He loosened his tie and sat on the edge of the bed.

His thoughts returned to the old woman.

The orphanage.

The birthday song.

The strange headache.

Why did those words feel so familiar?

His eyes drifted toward the old envelope lying inside the wooden box on his desk.

Slowly...

He reached for it.

This time...

No one knocked.

No phone rang.

No emergency interrupted him.

He carefully unfolded the first page.

Before he could read more than a single line—

Benedict stared silently at the fading ink.

One name.

Just one name.

Eleanor.

He had no idea why...

but for the first time in years...

he wasn't sure whather the letter frightened him...

or gave him hope.