Chapter 65: The Year He Promised

"Thirty-two?" Victor repeated.

"You're certain?"

Arthur turned the tablet toward him.

Thirty-two red dots flashed across the estate blueprint.

They were moving with military precision.

Every entrance.

Every exit.

Every corridor.

"They're surrounding the manor," Arthur said.

"Not attacking randomly."

"They're looking for something."

"The hidden study," Damien answered.

"They somehow know we've found it."

Victor immediately switched off the lights inside the underground room.

"Nobody moves until I say."

Silence settled over the chamber.

Only the emergency lights remained.

A dull thud echoed from somewhere above.

Another followed.

"Front doors," Arthur whispered.

"They've breached the house."

I tightened my grip around Richard's brass key.

The signet ring rested beside it.

Richard's final recording echoed through my mind.

"Only the ring can open the vault."

"Where is the vault?" I asked.

Victor scanned the room.

"Richard said beneath the study."

"Which means there's another hidden level."

Arthur knelt beside the large Persian rug beneath the desk.

"Help me move this."

Damien ignored the pain in his shoulder and joined him.

Together they rolled the heavy rug aside.

An iron hatch appeared beneath it.

At its centre was a circular indentation.

Exactly the size of the signet ring.

"Found it," Arthur breathed.

Victor handed me the ring.

"You do it."

I carefully placed the ring into the slot.

A deep metallic click echoed beneath our feet.

The hatch slowly unlocked.

Cold air drifted upward.

Arthur pulled it open.

A narrow staircase descended into complete darkness.

"Ladies first?" Damien asked quietly.

Despite everything, I almost smiled.

"Not this time."

Victor led the way.

The vault wasn't large.

Bare stone walls.

One wooden table.

A single steel cabinet bolted to the floor.

"That's it?" Damien frowned.

"Richard protected one cabinet for thirty years?"

Victor opened it.

Inside rested only one leather binder.

Nothing else.

"That's either disappointing..." Arthur said.

"Or priceless."

Victor carefully lifted the binder onto the table.

The cover carried handwritten words.

"The Founder."

Nobody spoke.

Victor slowly opened the first page.

It wasn't financial data.

It wasn't corporate records.

It was a handwritten journal.

"Year One," Victor read.

"Richard Ashford agreed to become our public face."

"He still believes he's negotiating."

"He doesn't understand ownership has already changed."

Victor turned another page.

"Year Three."

"Roland accepted the exchange."

"His brother has disappeared exactly as planned."

Damien's breathing became uneven.

"Keep reading."

Another page.

"Year Nine."

"The child remains alive."

"Continue observing."

"Do not eliminate unless necessary."

Every page represented another year.

Every entry documented another crime.

The organisation had kept records of everything.

Then Victor reached a page marked simply:

"Year Twenty-One."

The handwriting changed.

"Nathaniel Carter has started asking dangerous questions."

"Observe only."

"If observation fails... remove quietly."

I felt the room begin to spin.

Nathaniel's name.

Written years before his death.

"They were watching him for years," I whispered.

"Not months."

"Years."

Arthur suddenly stopped turning pages.

"Victor..."

"Look at this."

A photograph had been tucked inside the journal.

It showed Nathaniel standing outside a café.

Laughing.

Completely unaware someone had photographed him.

The date printed beneath it was four years before the accident.

"This wasn't surveillance after he investigated," Arthur said.

"They chose him long before."

"Why?" Damien asked.

Victor continued reading.

"Year Twenty-Four."

"The sister has become an inconvenience."

"Marriage approved."

"Limit her influence."

"Destroy independent business if required."

My hands became ice cold.

"The sister..."

"That's me."

"They arranged my marriage?"

Damien looked horrified.

"No..."

"I never knew."

"Of course you didn't," Victor answered.

"You were another piece on their board."

The next page contained a sentence that silenced everyone.

"Year Twenty-Five."

"The husband has begun resisting instruction."

"Unexpected emotional attachment developing."

"Continue monitoring."

Damien stared at the page.

"They were monitoring me?"

"Because of Vivian?"

"Looks that way," Arthur replied.

"You stopped behaving the way they expected."

A loud explosion shook the ceiling above.

Dust fell from the stone walls.

"They're inside the study," Victor said.

"We have minutes at most."

I quickly turned to the final completed page.

Unlike the others, it wasn't written years ago.

It had been added only days before Nathaniel died.

"Year Twenty-Eight."

"The husband can no longer be controlled."

"The Carter investigation has reached the Founder."

"Permission granted."

"End both operations."

Below those words someone had handwritten another sentence in blue ink.

Different handwriting.

Nathaniel's.

"You promised me one year."

"I only needed one year."

A tear rolled down my cheek.

"That's the title," I whispered.

"The year he promised."

"Nathaniel wasn't writing to himself."

"He was writing to someone inside Raven."

"Someone who secretly helped him."

Victor nodded slowly.

"Exactly."

"Someone delayed the order to kill him."

"Long enough for him to hide all this evidence."

Arthur's tablet suddenly emitted a piercing alarm.

"Victor..."

"The motion sensors are gone."

"Gone?"

"Not disabled."

"Destroyed."

"They've reached the hidden study."

Heavy footsteps echoed directly above the vault ceiling.

Then came a familiar female voice.

"Search every wall," Colette ordered.

"Nathaniel always hid one layer deeper."