CHAPTER 4 : THE SECRET HEIRLOOM
1612 Words
The photograph wouldn't leave Isabella's mind.
Even after the security team had swept every floor of Blackwood Tower, even after the police had arrived and the broken windows had been temporarily sealed, she couldn't stop staring at the same image.
Her father.
Standing beside Adrian's father.
Both men were younger.
Both were smiling.
And behind them stood the Sydney Harbour Bridge, illuminated against a dark evening sky.
But it wasn't the photograph itself that frightened her.
It was the date written on the back.
September 17, 2006.
Two days before her father's disappearance.
Isabella sat alone in the library.
The enormous room smelled faintly of leather and old paper. Thousands of books lined the walls, while the Sydney skyline glittered beyond the windows.
She turned the photograph over again.
Her father's handwriting was barely visible beneath the date.
Three words.
Trust the raven.
She frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"You tell me."
Isabella spun around.
Adrian stood in the doorway.
He had changed into a dark shirt, the sleeves rolled to his forearms. There was a small cut near his jaw from the shattered glass.
She looked at it.
"You're bleeding."
"It's nothing."
"You always say that."
"Because most things are."
He entered the room.
Isabella held up the photograph.
"Did you know my father worked with yours?"
"Yes."
Her eyes narrowed.
"You knew?"
"I knew they were connected."
"Connected how?"
Adrian pulled a chair across from her.
"They were investigating the same organization."
"The Consortium."
He nodded.
"What exactly is it?"
"Not a company."
"Then what?"
"A network."
"Of criminals?"
"Of people who don't consider themselves criminals."
He leaned forward.
"Politicians. Bankers. Mining executives. Lawyers. Judges. Security contractors. People who can make problems disappear without ever appearing in the same room."
Isabella felt a chill.
"And my father discovered them?"
"More than that."
Adrian reached into the pocket of his jacket.
He placed a small brass key on the table.
"This belonged to him."
Isabella stared at it.
"Where did you get that?"
"My father gave it to me the night before he died."
She looked up.
"You were there?"
"I was seventeen."
His voice became quieter.
"My father knew something was coming."
Isabella watched him carefully.
"What did he tell you?"
Adrian looked toward the window.
"He told me never to trust anyone who offered me protection."
She frowned.
"That's ironic."
"What?"
"You're protecting me."
His eyes met hers.
"Exactly."
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Isabella noticed something engraved into the brass key.
A tiny raven.
Her heartbeat quickened.
"The raven."
Adrian's expression changed.
"What?"
She showed him the photograph.
"My father wrote this."
Trust the raven.
Adrian took the photograph.
He studied it for several seconds.
"There's an old Blackwood property in Tasmania."
"What's there?"
"My father's private estate."
"Why would my father mention it?"
"I don't know."
"Then we go there."
Adrian looked at her.
"No."
She blinked.
"No?"
"It's too dangerous."
"You just told me my father may have left evidence there."
"I said we don't know."
"Then find out."
"Isabella."
"I've spent my entire life believing my father abandoned me."
Her voice cracked.
"If there's even a chance he left something behind, I'm going."
Adrian stood.
"So am I."
She stared at him.
"You said it was too dangerous."
"It is."
"Then why are you coming?"
His expression was unreadable.
"Because you're my wife."
She froze.
"We're not married yet."
"Publicly, we are."
"That's convenient."
"It is."
He walked toward the door.
"We leave at dawn."
---
The private jet departed Sydney just after six the following morning.
Isabella sat beside the window as Australia disappeared beneath the clouds.
Tasmania appeared several hours later.
Green mountains.
Deep forests.
Rugged coastlines.
Mist-covered valleys.
It looked nothing like Sydney.
And somehow, that made her more nervous.
The Blackwood estate was located near the outskirts of Hobart, surrounded by dense forest and protected by an enormous iron gate.
As their vehicle approached, the gates opened automatically.
Isabella stared at the property.
"This place looks abandoned."
"It hasn't been used in twenty years."
"Since your parents died?"
Adrian nodded.
They entered the house.
Dust covered the furniture.
Portraits lined the walls.
Isabella stopped in front of one.
Adrian's parents.
Young.
Elegant.
Happy.
She touched the frame.
"Your mother was beautiful."
Adrian stood beside her.
"She was."
"What was she like?"
He hesitated.
"Kind."
A small smile appeared.
"Too kind."
Isabella looked at him.
"I've never seen you smile like that."
The smile disappeared.
"Don't get used to it."
She laughed softly.
For a moment, the house didn't feel haunted by tragedy.
It felt like a home.
Then they heard a noise upstairs.
Both froze.
Adrian immediately moved in front of Isabella.
"Stay behind me."
They climbed the staircase.
The sound came again.
A door creaked.
Adrian opened it.
Nothing.
Only an empty bedroom.
Then Isabella noticed something.
A painting.
It hung crookedly on the wall.
She walked toward it.
"This wasn't painted randomly."
"What?"
She pointed.
The landscape showed the Blackwood estate.
But in the corner of the painting was a tiny black raven.
Adrian removed it from the wall.
Behind it was a hidden compartment.
Inside lay a wooden box.
Isabella's hands trembled.
Adrian opened it.
A cassette tape.
Several photographs.
And a handwritten letter.
The letter was addressed to:
Isabella Hart.
She stared at her name.
Her father had written it.
Twenty years before.
Adrian handed it to her.
"Read it."
She unfolded the paper.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
My darling Isabella,
If you're reading this, then I've failed to protect you.
Her eyes filled with tears.
I need you to understand one thing.
I never abandoned you.
She covered her mouth.
Adrian remained silent.
She continued.
The people responsible for my disappearance are closer to us than you realize.
Do not trust the Blackwood family.
Isabella stopped.
She slowly lowered the letter.
Adrian's expression hardened.
"What?"
She handed him the page.
He read the sentence.
His eyes darkened.
"Your father believed my family was involved."
"Was he wrong?"
Adrian didn't answer.
The silence was answer enough.
Isabella stepped backward.
"You knew."
"I knew there were accusations."
"You knew and you didn't tell me."
"I didn't know whether they were true."
"That's not good enough."
She turned away.
Adrian caught her wrist gently.
"Isabella."
"Let go."
He did.
She stared at him.
"How am I supposed to trust you?"
Adrian looked at the letter.
"You shouldn't."
She frowned.
"What?"
"You shouldn't trust me blindly."
His voice was quiet.
"But you should know this."
He stepped closer.
"If my family betrayed yours, I'll be the one to expose them."
Before Isabella could respond, the cassette recorder suddenly clicked.
They both turned.
The tape had begun playing.
Static filled the room.
Then a man's voice emerged.
Isabella stopped breathing.
It was her father.
Older.
Frightened.
But unmistakably him.
"If you're hearing this, Isabella..."
She moved closer.
"...then the Consortium knows about you."
Her eyes widened.
The recording continued.
"And Adrian Blackwood is already in danger."
Adrian's face went pale.
The voice became weaker.
"There is one person you must find."
Static.
Then the final words came.
"Her name is..."
The recording cut off.
Silence.
Isabella looked at Adrian.
"Who?"
He didn't answer.
The house suddenly went dark.
A violent crash came from downstairs.
Adrian grabbed Isabella's hand.
"Someone's inside."
Footsteps echoed through the hallway.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Coming toward them.
Adrian pulled a concealed weapon from his jacket.
Isabella's heart raced.
The footsteps stopped outside the library.
Then the door handle began to turn.
Adrian positioned himself between Isabella and the door.
The door opened.
A woman stood there.
She was perhaps in her late fifties, dressed in a long black coat.
Her silver hair was tied behind her head.
She looked directly at Isabella.
Then at Adrian.
And whispered:
"Your fathers were wrong."
Isabella stared.
"Who are you?"
The woman stepped inside.
"I knew your father."
She paused.
"And I was the last person to see him alive."
Adrian raised his weapon.
"Name."
The woman looked at him without fear.
"Margaret Vale."
Isabella's heart stopped.
The name was familiar.
She had seen it in one of her father's old notebooks.
Margaret smiled sadly.
"Your father left something for you."
"What?"
"The truth."
She reached inside her coat.
Adrian tightened his grip on the weapon.
But Margaret pulled out no gun.
Instead, she produced a small photograph.
She handed it to Isabella.
Isabella looked down.
Her entire world seemed to stop.
The photograph showed her father.
Adrian's father.
And Margaret.
Standing together.
But there was someone else in the photograph.
A young boy.
Isabella stared at him.
She recognized him immediately.
She looked at Adrian.
Then back at the photograph.
The boy was Adrian.
But the date printed beneath the picture was impossible.
Three years after Adrian's parents were supposedly killed.
Isabella's voice trembled.
"Adrian..."
He took the photograph.
His face changed.
For the first time since she had met him, the cold billionaire looked genuinely afraid.
Margaret whispered:
"Your parents weren't killed in that helicopter crash."
Adrian stared at her.
"They survived."
The room went silent.
Margaret's next words were barely audible.
"And one of them is still alive."
Outside, thunder rolled across the Tasmanian mountains.
And somewhere in the darkness beyond the estate, a hidden camera captured everything happening inside the room.
The footage was transmitted to an unknown location.
A man's voice spoke from the darkness.
"They found Margaret."
Another voice answered.
"Then it's time."
A pause.
"And the wedding?"
The first man smiled.
"Let them marry."
His voice became colder.
"Because the moment Adrian discovers which parent survived..."
"He'll destroy the woman he's beginning to love."
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