Chapter 43 - The Echo from the Grave
The evening reception was an intimate celebration filled with laughter, warm champagne, and the sweet melodies of acoustic jazz echoing into the twilight.
Lucas wheeled himself over to our table, holding up a glass of sparkling cider with a wide, relaxed grin.
"To the real boss of Bradley Holdings," Lucas toasted, tapping his glass against mine and Julian’s. "And to the best sister a reformed idiot could ever ask for."
"To family," I smiled, clinking my glass against his. "The family we choose."
As Lucas turned to chat with Julian about the upcoming charitable foundation we were establishing in Clara Vance's name, one of the estate's private security guards quietly approached our table.
"Mrs. Vance-Bradley?" the guard murmured, leaning in discreetly. "Excuse me for interrupting, ma'am, but a courier just delivered a priority package to the front gate. It’s marked strictly personal and urgent."
Julian frowned, immediately stepping to my side. "From who? The police department?"
"No, sir," the guard replied, handing over a medium-sized wooden box bound with tarnished brass straps. "The courier said it was released from a private security vault in Geneva the moment the corporate transfer of Bradley Holdings was ratified at noon today."
A sudden chill cut through the warmth of the evening air.
Julian inspected the exterior of the box with careful precision. There was no bomb, no ticking mechanism, only an ancient wax seal pressed into the dark mahogany lid.
The wax seal was stamped with a rampant wolf clutching an arrow—the personal crest of Arthur Bradley’s older brother, Rupert Bradley.
"Rupert..." I breathed, the hair on my arms standing on end.
With steady hands, Julian used a silver butter knife to break the brittle red wax and pry open the wooden clasp.
Inside the box, resting on a bed of black velvet, was a silver antique pocket watch, its hands frozen at precisely **11:59 PM.**
Beside the watch lay a handwritten letter on yellowed parchment, penned in dark, elegant ink that looked freshly dried.
Julian and I leaned in together to read the words:
*“My Dearest Elaine,*
*If you are reading this, it means Bernice has failed, just as I predicted she would. She was always too emotional, too sloppy, too easily consumed by petty jealousies to see the grander design.*
*She thought she was burning your mother’s dress to hurt you. She never understood that the dress was merely the trigger.*
*You survived the fire, little niece. You claimed the company. You played the hero, just as your father once did.*
*Now, the real game begins.*
*Check Account 402 in Geneva before sunrise tomorrow. The money Bernice stole wasn't for her retirement. It was the down payment on your life.*
*Welcome to the family business.*
*— Uncle Rupert.”*
My breath hitched in my throat as my eyes darted back to the pocket watch.
May you like
Beneath the velvet lining of the box, a small red LED light suddenly blinked to life, emitting a low, rhythmic beep that began counting down:
**05:59:59... 05:59:58...**
