Chapter 3 - The Locked GardenThe east garden had been locked for as long as I had worked at the estate.
Marta once told me nobody had entered it since Marcus's father died.
The iron gate was covered in ivy.
A brass padlock hung from the center.
Marcus unlocked it.
We entered.
The garden was beautiful in a sad way.
Wild roses covered the walls.
Old stone paths disappeared beneath weeds.
At the center stood a greenhouse with shattered glass panels.
Marcus pushed open the door.
“Mom?”
No answer.
Then Lily tugged my hand.
“Over there.”
She pointed beneath a wooden bench.
Marcus crouched.
A silk scarf lay in the dirt.
He recognized it.
“My mother wears this every day.”
He picked it up.
Then found something else.
A phone.
His mother's.
The screen was cracked.
Marcus's face hardened.
“Someone took her.”
I looked around.
“Who?”
He didn't answer.
Then a sound came from inside the greenhouse.
Three knocks.
Lily whispered:
“Grandma.”
Marcus rushed inside.
We followed.
Behind a row of dead plants was a small wooden door.
Marcus opened it.
His mother was inside.
Her hands were tied.
Her mouth covered with tape.
Marcus dropped to his knees.
“Mom!”
He freed her.
Eleanor Cole was pale but conscious.
She looked at me.
Then at Lily.
Then at Marcus.
“You brought the child.”
Marcus stared.
“She found you.”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
“She shouldn't have.”
“Mom, what's happening?”
She looked toward the door.
“Your father.”
Marcus froze.
“You saw him?”
“Yes.”
“Is he alive?”
Eleanor's eyes filled with tears.
“Yes.”
Marcus stood.
“How?”
“I don't know.”
“Where is he?”
“He came last night.”
“What did he want?”
“Something I kept from him.”
“What?”
Eleanor looked at Lily.
“A ledger.”
Marcus's face hardened.
“What ledger?”
“The foundation ledger.”
I stepped closer.
“The money?”
Eleanor nodded.
“Your father didn't steal eight million dollars.”
Marcus stared.
“Then who did?”
Eleanor whispered:
“Vanessa.”
Marcus looked stunned.
“She has been working with him.”
His mother nodded.
“Your father has been alive for eleven years.”
“Why?”
“Because he didn't want the world to know.”
“Why would he fake his death?”
Eleanor looked at me.
“Because someone tried to kill him.”
“Who?”
She whispered:
“Your uncle.”
Marcus went silent.
He had no uncle.
Not anymore.
His uncle Daniel had died seven years earlier.
Or so everyone believed.
Eleanor reached into her coat.
She pulled out a folded photograph.
Marcus opened it.
The photograph showed three men.
Richard Cole.
Daniel Cole.
And a third man.
Marcus stared.
“That's impossible.”
I looked at the photograph.
“Who is he?”
May you like
Marcus answered:
“My grandfather.”
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