Chapter 8 - The Man Who Raised Him Finally Told the Truth

Victor entered the mausoleum slowly.

No gun.

No visible weapon.

Only his black cane.

That made him more frightening.

Men like Victor did not need to carry the violence themselves.

Alessandro stood between him and Isabella.

Victor noticed.

“Still protecting the wrong parent.”

Alessandro’s face hardened.

“Careful.”

Victor smiled.

“There he is.”

“What?”

“The boy I raised.”

“You raised me on lies.”

“I raised you alive.”

Isabella stepped forward.

“No. Matteo did that.”

Victor looked at her.

“Matteo was weak.”

“He was afraid for his son.”

“Exactly.”

Alessandro’s voice was quiet.

“You kidnapped me.”

Victor shrugged.

“For three hours.”

“You drugged me.”

“Bernard did.”

“You beat my father.”

“Other men did.”

Thomas whispered:

“You ordered it.”

Victor looked at him.

“And you signed the checks.”

Rosalie flinched.

Thomas said nothing.

Victor turned back to Alessandro.

“This room is full of people who want me to be the only villain because it makes their own choices easier to survive.”

He pointed at Thomas.

“He forged signatures.”

At Henry.

“He sold photographs to whoever paid.”

Henry frowned.

“Nineteen years ago.”

Victor pointed at Isabella.

“She stole documents and money.”

“To expose you,” Alessandro said.

Victor smiled.

“And Rosalie?”

Rosalie stiffened.

Victor looked at her.

“She lied to your mother’s face.”

Alessandro did not look away from him.

“I know.”

Victor’s smile faded slightly.

“You know?”

“Yes.”

“And you still keep her here?”

“That is between me and her.”

Victor studied him.

Matteo’s son.

Not his boy anymore.

Victor tapped the cane once against marble.

“You found the Zurich account.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who created it?”

“My father.”

“No.”

Isabella frowned.

Victor continued.

“I did.”

Alessandro stared.

“Why would you make me beneficiary?”

“Because your father refused to sign one final transfer.”

He glanced at Matteo’s crypt.

“So I created a structure that required your signature when you turned thirty-five.”

Rosalie understood.

“Two years from now.”

Victor nodded.

“Unless Alessandro became legally incapable.”

The psychiatric records.

The recent transfers.

Everything connected.

Alessandro looked at him.

“You planned this for nineteen years.”

“I planned for the family.”

“You mean yourself.”

“I mean continuity.”

Alessandro almost laughed.

“You stole from us to preserve us?”

Victor’s voice sharpened.

“You think your father could have held the companies together?”

“Yes.”

“He could not hold his own wife.”

Isabella slapped him.

The sound filled the mausoleum.

Victor stared at her.

Then smiled.

“I wondered if you still had that in you.”

Alessandro stepped forward.

Victor’s driver moved.

Thomas blocked him.

For the first time, Thomas stood between Victor and someone else.

Victor looked amused.

“You?”

Thomas answered:

“Yes.”

Victor shook his head.

“You have been afraid of me for nineteen years.”

“Yes.”

“And now?”

Thomas looked at Rosalie.

“Now she knows why.”

Rosalie stared at her father.

Victor’s face changed.

Just slightly.

Alessandro saw it.

“You don’t like that.”

Victor said nothing.

“The lies only worked while everyone carried a different piece.”

Silence.

Alessandro lifted the ledger.

“Now we’re in one room.”

Victor looked at Henry.

“You still have the negatives?”

Henry smiled.

“Some.”

“Where?”

“Not here.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed.

Henry continued.

“I digitized them.”

Victor went still.

Rosalie almost smiled.

Henry looked at me.

I understood.

Earlier at the station, while everyone argued, Henry had handed me his camera card.

I still had it.

Victor looked at Alessandro.

“Give me the ledger.”

“No.”

“The cassette.”

“No.”

“The photographs.”

“No.”

Victor exhaled.

“Then your mother leaves with me.”

Alessandro’s expression changed.

Victor’s driver grabbed Isabella.

Too fast.

Rosalie screamed.

Thomas lunged.

The driver struck him.

Alessandro moved.

One punch.

Then another.

The driver fell against the stone wall.

Isabella pulled free.

Victor backed toward the door.

Alessandro stopped him.

For several seconds, they faced each other.

Uncle.

Nephew.

Father figure.

Enemy.

Victor whispered:

“You would not be who you are without me.”

Alessandro answered:

“That is the first true thing you’ve said tonight.”

Victor smiled.

Alessandro continued.

“And I will spend the rest of my life deciding which parts of you to remove.”

Victor’s smile disappeared.

Sirens sounded outside.

Rosalie looked at Thomas.

“You called them?”

He shook his head.

Henry raised his phone.

“I did.”

Victor looked at him.

Henry smiled.

“You should never threaten a photographer in a room with good reception.”

Police lights reflected across the chapel windows.

Victor’s face remained calm.

Too calm.

Alessandro noticed.

“You expected this.”

Victor said nothing.

Then the old man looked at Matteo’s crypt.

And smiled.

Alessandro followed his eyes.

The cavity behind the brass plate was empty.

The envelope was gone.

Rosalie looked around.

“Who took it?”

Nobody answered.

Then I remembered something.

Victor had arrived after the driver.

The driver had stood near the crypt before Victor entered.

Alessandro grabbed him by the coat.

“Where is the envelope?”

The driver looked at Victor.

Victor said:

“Do not.”

The driver swallowed.

Then pointed toward the chapel furnace room.

Henry went pale.

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“Paper.”

Alessandro ran.