Chapter 8: The Study
735 Words
Chapter 8: The Study
Amelia was already moving before the call ended.
"What happened?" she demanded.
Her father's breathing remained uneven.
"I don't know."
"Dad."
"The security alarm went off twenty minutes ago."
A knot tightened in her stomach.
"Was anything taken?"
"We haven't checked yet."
The line went silent.
Then her father added quietly,
"The police are here."
The call ended.
Amelia lowered the phone.
For several seconds, neither she nor Alexander spoke.
Then Alexander stood.
"I'm coming with you."
Amelia immediately shook her head.
"No."
"This concerns your mother."
"It concerns my family."
"It concerns both."
His tone left little room for argument.
Normally she would have resisted.
Today she didn't have the energy.
Twenty minutes later, Alexander's car pulled through the gates of the Hart estate.
The mansion looked exactly as Amelia remembered.
Large.
Elegant.
Cold.
Police vehicles lined the driveway.
Blue lights flashed against the stone walls.
Several officers stood near the entrance speaking with security staff.
The moment Amelia stepped out of the car, her father rushed toward her.
His suit was wrinkled.
His face pale.
For the first time in years, he looked old.
"Amelia."
"What happened?"
"We don't know."
His eyes shifted toward Alexander.
The billionaire's appearance clearly surprised him.
But he didn't comment.
Not now.
There were bigger problems.
A police officer approached.
"Miss Hart?"
"Yes."
"We believe the intruder entered through a side window."
Amelia frowned.
"Was anything stolen?"
"We're still determining that."
The officer led them inside.
The mansion felt unusually tense.
House staff gathered in small groups.
Whispering.
Watching.
Waiting.
Her father guided them down a hallway.
Toward a room Amelia hadn't entered in years.
Her mother's study.
The door stood open.
Amelia froze.
Memories hit her instantly.
The scent of old books.
The antique desk.
The framed photographs.
This had been her mother's sanctuary.
The one place in the house where she had always felt safe.
Now it looked violated.
Drawers had been pulled open.
Books lay scattered across the floor.
Cabinets stood empty.
Someone had searched everything.
And they hadn't been gentle.
A wave of anger surged through Amelia.
"Who would do this?"
Nobody answered.
Because nobody knew.
Or at least that's what everyone claimed.
Amelia slowly entered the room.
Her eyes scanned every corner.
Every shelf.
Every drawer.
Looking for something.
Anything.
Then she noticed it.
A small wooden box sitting on the floor beside the desk.
Her mother's memory box.
Amelia hurried over.
The lid hung open.
Inside were old photographs.
Letters.
Personal belongings.
Nothing appeared missing.
At first.
Then she realized something.
A leather notebook was gone.
Her breath caught.
The notebook.
Her mother's journal.
Amelia had seen it countless times growing up.
Her mother wrote in it almost every evening.
Notes.
Thoughts.
Appointments.
Observations.
Everything.
The journal was gone.
"Dad."
Her voice came out sharp.
Her father turned.
"What?"
"My mother's journal."
Confusion crossed his face.
"What journal?"
Amelia stared at him.
"The black leather one."
He frowned.
"I don't remember a journal."
That was impossible.
Everyone remembered the journal.
Even house staff knew about it.
Amelia looked around the room.
Then her eyes landed on Vanessa.
Standing silently near the doorway.
Watching.
Vanessa immediately looked away.
Too quickly.
A chill swept through Amelia.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
"Vanessa."
Her sister stiffened.
"What?"
"Do you remember Mom's journal?"
Vanessa hesitated.
Only for a second.
But Amelia noticed.
"Not really."
A lie.
A terrible lie.
Amelia knew it instantly.
So did Vanessa.
Their eyes met.
And for the briefest moment, Amelia saw something she hadn't expected.
Fear.
Not guilt.
Fear.
As though Vanessa already knew exactly what had been taken.
The realization sent a warning through Amelia's mind.
Someone wasn't looking for jewelry.
Or money.
Or valuables.
They were looking for information.
Specific information.
The same information her mother had hinted at in the letter.
The same information Alexander had spent seven years searching for.
A police officer entered the room.
"Miss Hart."
She turned.
"We found something outside."
"What?"
The officer held up a small object sealed inside an evidence bag.
Amelia's heart stopped.
Inside the bag was a silver key.
Small.
Old-fashioned.
And hanging from it was a faded blue ribbon.
Amelia recognized it instantly.
Because she had tied that ribbon herself.
When she was twelve years old.
The key belonged to her mother.
And according to everyone in the family...
It had disappeared the day she died.
- Writer
