Chapter 8 - The Secret Beneath the Beaumont Gallery
Lucien Ashford entered the study as though he owned it.
Perhaps once he had.
Selian remained perfectly still.
Saraphene recognized the warning in his posture.
Not fear.
History.
“You weren't invited,” Selian said.
Lucien smiled.
“Family rarely requires invitations.”
“In this house, you do.”
Mrs. Vale quietly left.
Adrian remained by the door.
Lucien’s gaze returned to Saraphene.
“The resemblance is remarkable.”
“To who?” she asked.
“Your grandfather.”
“You knew him?”
“Everyone worth knowing used Joseph Winters.”
“For clocks?”
“For discretion.”
Selian stepped between them.
“Why are you here?”
Lucien looked mildly disappointed.
“Always impatient.”
“Answer.”
“I heard Victor Lane resurfaced.”
“And?”
“And I thought perhaps you had finally learned what Elias was doing before he vanished.”
Saraphene watched both men.
“You knew about the ledger.”
Lucien looked at her.
“I knew Elias believed he had discovered one.”
“That's not the same thing.”
“No.”
“Did you know my grandfather hid evidence?”
“Not until recently.”
“How recently?”
Lucien's smile faded.
“Your questions sound like Joseph's.”
“Good.”
Selian almost smiled.
Lucien noticed.
“That is dangerous, nephew.”
“What?”
“Caring.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Saraphene looked at Selian.
His expression did not change.
But Lucien had hit something.
“Leave,” Selian said.
“I came to give you information.”
“What?”
“The third location.”
Silence.
Lucien removed an old brass token from his pocket and placed it on the desk.
The Beaumont Gallery emblem was stamped on one side.
On the other were numbers.
Coordinates.
Saraphene stared.
“The gallery?”
Lucien nodded.
“Before it became a gallery, the building housed a private bank. Your grandfather maintained its vault timers.”
Selian picked up the token.
“How did you get this?”
“Elias gave it to me.”
“Before he disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“And you waited three years?”
Lucien’s eyes hardened.
“He told me not to give it to you unless Victor returned.”
“Why?”
“Because he feared you'd burn the city looking for him.”
Selian looked away.
“He was probably right.”
“No.” Lucien’s voice softened. “He knew you were capable of becoming your father.”
Selian's jaw tightened.
Saraphene remembered the cassette.
Don't become Father trying to avenge me.
Lucien continued.
“Elias wanted the truth exposed, not buried under more bodies.”
Adrian shifted slightly.
Saraphene ignored the implication.
“Why should we trust you?”
Lucien looked at her.
“You shouldn't.”
She appreciated the answer more than she wanted to.
“But you can verify the coordinates.”
They did.
The point landed directly beneath the Beaumont Gallery.
Not inside the main exhibition space.
Under it.
Architectural plans showed an older sub-basement sealed during renovation.
Selian called Ramirez.
For once, he did everything properly.
Warrant.
Building owner.
Gallery representatives.
By midnight, a maintenance crew opened a concealed stairwell behind a wall in the service corridor.
The same corridor Saraphene had run through.
She stared.
Twenty feet away was the restroom where she had met Selian.
“All of this was under us that night.”
Selian stood beside her.
“Apparently.”
“You think that's why Trent came to the auction?”
“Yes.”
“Not because of me.”
“Possibly both.”
Saraphene exhaled.
The idea no longer hurt quite as much.
Police descended first.
The sub-basement smelled of dust and damp stone.
Old safe-deposit boxes lined one wall.
Most had been removed.
One remained.
Box 417.
The stopped clock at her grandfather’s shop had shown 4:17.
Saraphene laughed quietly.
“What?”
“Grandpa liked making people work for answers.”
Ramirez opened the box with authorization from the building owner and evidence technicians.
Inside was no ledger.
Again.
Instead: a small flash drive.
A letter.
And a photograph.
The photograph showed Elias, Joseph Winters and—
Saraphene looked up.
“Lucien.”
Selian took it.
His uncle stood beside Elias.
All three were smiling.
The letter belonged to Elias.
Selian read aloud.
“If you reached this box, you found the first path. The ledger is divided because no single person should possess enough information to destroy everyone named in it without verification.”
Adrian nodded.
“Smart.”
Selian continued.
“The drive contains encrypted copies of financial transfers. The key is where Mother rests.”
The cemetery.
Second location.
“The final evidence is held by someone who does not know what they possess.”
Saraphene looked at Selian.
“Who?”
He continued.
“If Victor finds the financial records alone, he will claim fabrication. If my family finds the names alone, they may silence them. All three parts must be brought together.”
The final line:
“Trust Joseph. Trust Selian only if he learned restraint.”
Saraphene looked at Selian.
“Ouch.”
Adrian turned away to hide another smile.
Selian gave him a look.
Then Saraphene noticed another handwritten line at the bottom.
Different ink.
Joseph's handwriting.
He learned.
Selian stopped.
Saraphene felt unexpectedly emotional.
“Your brother didn't know.”
“No.”
“But my grandfather did.”
Selian folded the letter carefully.
Ramirez took possession of the flash drive.
“Forensics will handle this.”
Saraphene examined the safe-deposit box.
A small mark had been scratched beneath it.
Two initials.
S.W.
Her initials.
She frowned.
“Why are my initials here?”
Selian crouched.
“They could mean something else.”
But Joseph Winters had called her Sari, never Saraphene.
When labeling her belongings, he used SW.
Saraphene touched the metal.
“He intended me to find this.”
A noise sounded upstairs.
Everyone froze.
Adrian touched his earpiece.
Then swore.
“What?”
“Fire alarm.”
Red lights began flashing.
The gallery’s evacuation system activated.
Ramirez spoke into her radio.
Smoke suddenly poured down the stairwell.
“Move!”
Everyone headed upward.
Selian kept Saraphene ahead of him.
When they reached the main gallery, sprinklers had activated.
Guests and overnight staff were being evacuated.
The fire itself was small.
Deliberate.
A trash bin near a loading dock.
A distraction.
Ramirez checked the evidence case.
Still there.
Then Saraphene looked toward Selian.
“Where's Lucien?”
Silence.
Adrian looked around.
“He was upstairs.”
Not anymore.
The front doors stood open.
Lucien Ashford was gone.
So was the brass token.
Selian’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
Lucien’s voice came through the speaker.
“Nephew.”
“Where are you?”
“Far enough away.”
“Why?”
“Because you're missing the obvious question.”
“What question?”
“Why would Elias give me the third coordinate if he suspected I ordered the hit?”
Selian said nothing.
Lucien continued.
“He didn't suspect me.”
“Then who?”
A pause.
“The person who ordered Elias's disappearance is the same person who has been helping Trent stay ahead of you.”
“Name.”
Lucien exhaled.
“I'll give you the name when you find the second part at your mother's grave.”
“Why not now?”
“Because if I'm wrong, saying it gets me killed.”
The line disconnected.
Saraphene stared at Selian.
“Who could frighten your uncle that much?”
Selian looked toward the rain falling beyond the gallery doors.
“Only one person.”
“Who?”
He turned toward her.
“My father.”
Saraphene frowned.
“You said your father was dead.”
Selian's expression became unreadable.
May you like
“I thought he was.”
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