Chapter 3 - The Message Inside the EmeraldArthur used tweezers to remove the paper.
No one dared breathe.
“It’s decades old,” he warned. “It could fall apart.”
Samuel suggested calling the gallery’s head conservator, but Claire raised a hand.
“I’m a document conservator.”
Arthur looked at her.
“Can you do it?”
“Yes.”
Charles interrupted.
“She will touch nothing.”
Victoria turned to him.
“Dad, stop trying.”
Those words silenced him.
Claire put on gloves and worked for nearly twenty minutes beneath a special lamp.
Little by little, she unrolled the paper.
It contained only three lines.
But they were enough.
Sarah is a Whitmore.
The necklace will be her proof.
R.M., 1961.
Claire felt her legs weaken.
Her mother had lived sixty-four years without knowing that tiny piece of paper existed.
Victoria dropped into a chair.
Charles closed his eyes.
“This proves nothing.”
Samuel gave a bitter laugh.
“You still want to keep going?”
“Anyone could have written it.”
“Then we’ll test the ink,” Claire replied.
Charles looked at her with hatred.
“You came here looking for trouble.”
“I came here to attend an exhibition.”
“And conveniently brought a sixty-year-old photograph with you.”
Claire stared at him.
“Because I’ve carried that photo with me since my mother died. It was the only picture I had of my grandmother.”
Victoria intervened.
“Enough.”
She looked at Claire.
“I want the truth as much as you do.”
Charles spun toward her.
“You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Then explain it to me.”
He did not answer.
Victoria made a decision.
“The necklace will be sent to an independent laboratory.”
Samuel added:
“And there is something else.”
He removed a key from his pocket.
“Eleanor left a safe-deposit box.”
Charles looked as if he had been struck.
“You destroyed it.”
“I told you I destroyed it.”
Samuel allowed himself a faint smile.
“I lied.”
Victoria’s mouth fell open.
“Why?”
“Because your grandmother asked me to.”
The box was located in an old Manhattan bank branch.
Eleanor had left strict instructions:
It was to be opened only if someone produced proof that Rose Morgan had living descendants.
Claire held the photograph against her chest.
Two hours later, they arrived at the bank.
At first, Charles refused to accompany them.
But he appeared ten minutes before they opened the vault.
“This is family property.”
Samuel replied:
“Then you should want to know what’s inside.”
The box contained three things.
An envelope.
An audio tape.
And a legal document.
Victoria picked up the envelope.
On the front were the words:
For Sarah Morgan’s Daughter.
Claire felt the world stop.
“She knew I existed.”
Samuel nodded.
“It appears so.”
Claire opened the letter.
Dear Rose’s granddaughter:
If you are reading this, it means our family finally failed to hide the truth.
Claire had to stop.
Her eyes were filled with tears.
She continued reading.
Eleanor confessed that she had received the necklace after their father forced Rose to surrender it.
For decades, she had tried to find her sister.
But Rose never trusted the Whitmores again.
Before Eleanor died, she discovered that Sarah had a daughter.
Claire.
And she had changed her will.
Victoria looked at the legal document.
“What did she change?”
Samuel opened it.
He read slowly.
A significant percentage of the family shares were to be transferred to Rose’s direct descendant.
Claire thought she had heard wrong.
“What percentage?”
Samuel took a deep breath.
“Thirty-one percent.”
Victoria stood.
Charles turned white.
Whitmore Holdings was worth nearly four billion dollars.
Thirty-one percent would make Claire one of the company’s largest shareholders.
But Samuel continued.
“There’s a condition.”
Claire looked up.
“What condition?”
“The will was to remain secret until the correct descendant appeared.”
Charles started toward the door.
Victoria stopped him.
“Where are you going?”
“I need some air.”
Samuel watched him.
“No. You need time to call someone.”
Charles froze.
“What are you implying?”
Samuel raised the document.
“This version of the will was never filed after Eleanor’s death.”
The room went silent.
“Why?” Claire asked.
Samuel looked at Charles.
“Because someone submitted another version.”
A version dated exactly two days later.
And in that second version, Rose’s name did not appear.
Neither did Sarah’s.
Nor Claire’s.
Victoria looked at her father.
“Who submitted that will?”
May you like
Samuel answered:
“Charles Whitmore.”
Related Stories
