Chapter 2 Five Minutes
Thomas did not move.
Neither did Emilia.
The workshop seemed to shrink around them.
The familiar smell of sawdust and varnish suddenly felt too strong. Somewhere near the back wall, an old clock continued ticking, each movement of its hands painfully clear.
Three minutes had already passed.
The stranger knocked again.
"Mr. Foster."
Thomas looked at Emilia.
"Go upstairs."
She shook her head.
"No."
"Emilia."
"I'm not leaving you."
"This has nothing to do with you."
She looked at the metal box in his hand.
"Then why did he mention my name?"
Thomas's expression tightened.
The question landed harder than she intended.
The man outside spoke again.
"I know you're in there."
Thomas lowered his voice.
"Please."
Emilia had never heard that word from him in quite that way.
Her father had always been steady.
When her mother had been ill, he had remained calm.
When the workshop nearly failed, he had worked through the night.
When Emilia had announced that she was marrying Marcus, Thomas had disagreed but never insulted her husband.
He had simply looked at her for a long time and asked, "Are you certain you know what you're choosing?"
She had thought he was worried about wealth.
She had been wrong.
Now she understood there had been something behind his silence.
Something he had carried for years.
"Tell me what is in the box," she whispered.
Thomas looked toward the door.
Then back at her.
"Your grandfather kept records."
"What records?"
"About Bellweather."
Emilia's pulse quickened.
"The property?"
"Yes."
"Why would Grandpa have anything to do with it?"
Thomas looked away.
"Because he helped build part of it."
Emilia frowned.
"He was a carpenter."
"He was more than that."
Another knock.
Harder this time.
"Mr. Foster!"
Thomas flinched.
Then the sound of metal scraping against the workshop door made both of them turn.
Someone was trying the handle.
Emilia stepped closer to her father.
"Call the police."
Thomas shook his head.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because we don't know who else is involved."
"That doesn't make sense."
"It will."
"Then explain it."
Thomas stared at her.
There was pain in his eyes now.
"I spent twenty-seven years trying to keep this away from you."
Emilia's voice dropped.
"And now?"
"Now I think keeping you ignorant has become more dangerous than telling you the truth."
The handle moved again.
Emilia's breath caught.
Thomas opened the metal box.
Inside were old photographs, folded documents, and a small brass key.
Emilia recognized the handwriting on one of the envelopes.
Her grandfather's.
Thomas pulled out a photograph.
He handed it to her.
Emilia looked down.
The image showed four men standing outside Bellweather House.
She recognized her grandfather immediately.
Beside him stood a much younger Richard Aldridge.
The other two men were strangers.
But something about the picture unsettled her.
She turned it over.
There was writing on the back.
Bellweather, October 1999.
Below it were four names.
Henry Foster.
Richard Aldridge.
Martin Voss.
Edwin Shaw.
Emilia stared at the last two names.
"Who are they?"
Thomas took the photograph back.
"People who should have stayed in the past."
"That isn't an answer."
"I know."
He placed the photograph on the table.
"The four of them were involved in the original Bellweather agreement."
"What agreement?"
"The one that transferred control of the property."
"To the Aldridges?"
Thomas nodded.
"But the transfer was never what it appeared to be."
Emilia's mind returned to Marcus.
His father's signature.
The secret documents.
The news report.
Everything was beginning to connect.
"Did Marcus know?"
Thomas looked at her.
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
Emilia noticed.
"How can you be sure?"
"Because if he knew, he would have come here years ago."
She thought about Marcus.
The man who planned everything.
The man who rarely admitted uncertainty.
The man who could spend hours studying contracts but had sometimes struggled to understand a single expression on his wife's face.
"No," Emilia whispered.
"He didn't know."
Thomas nodded.
"But his father did."
A sharp sound came from the front of the workshop.
The lock cracked.
Thomas immediately closed the metal box.
"Upstairs."
"Dad—"
"Now."
This time, Emilia obeyed.
She moved toward the narrow staircase leading to the storage loft.
She looked back.
Thomas stood between her and the door.
For the first time, Emilia saw the father she had known all her life differently.
Not as an unbreakable man.
As a man who had been afraid for twenty-seven years.
She reached the stairs.
Then stopped.
"Dad?"
He looked at her.
"What happened in 1999?"
His face tightened.
"Your grandfather made a promise to Richard Aldridge."
"What promise?"
Thomas looked toward the door.
"That he would never tell anyone what they had done."
The door shook again.
Thomas turned the lock on the workshop's inner gate.
Then he looked at Emilia.
"Whatever happens, don't trust anyone who asks you for those papers."
Marcus Aldridge had never liked waiting.
Waiting meant someone else controlled the outcome.
He preferred decisions.
Actions.
Results.
Yet for the past forty minutes, he had been staring at his phone.
Emilia had not answered.
He had sent one message.
Then another.
I know this isn't enough.
He had deleted the third before sending it.
Grant stood near the conference table, watching him.
"You should go home."
Marcus looked up.
"No."
"Marcus."
"I said no."
Grant folded his arms.
"The company can survive one day without you."
"That's not the problem."
"Then what is?"
Marcus looked toward the documents.
"Someone has been hiding information from me."
"Your family?"
"My father."
Grant's expression changed.
"You think Richard deliberately concealed the Bellweather records?"
"I know he did."
"And Thomas Foster was involved."
Marcus leaned back.
The name had been troubling him since morning.
Thomas Foster.
His wife's father.
The man who had watched Marcus marry Emilia with an expression Marcus had never fully understood.
At the time, Marcus had assumed Thomas disliked him because of the wealth.
Perhaps he had been right for the wrong reason.
His phone rang.
Daniel.
Marcus answered.
"What?"
His younger brother's voice came through.
"Good morning to you too."
"I've had a difficult morning."
"I heard."
Marcus frowned.
"From whom?"
"Mother."
Marcus glanced at the clock.
"What does she want?"
"To know why you and Emilia aren't together."
"How does she know?"
"Because apparently your marriage is the only thing in this family that she considers more interesting than money."
Marcus said nothing.
Daniel sighed.
"You need to talk to Emilia."
"I tried."
"And?"
"She didn't answer."
"Try again."
"I have."
"Then try differently."
Marcus almost laughed.
"You're giving me marriage advice?"
"No. I'm giving you brother advice."
Daniel paused.
"Don't make the mistake Dad made."
Marcus went still.
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing."
"Daniel."
"I said nothing."
Marcus's voice hardened.
"Don't do that."
Daniel was silent.
Then he said, "Dad spent his entire life believing people would stay simply because he provided for them."
Marcus's throat tightened.
"Where are you?"
"At the old house."
"Why?"
"I found something."
"What?"
Another pause.
"Come here."
The call ended.
Marcus stared at the phone.
Grant watched him.
"What happened?"
"Daniel wants me at the family house."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
Grant studied him.
"Are you going?"
Marcus stood.
"Yes."
Then he stopped.
"Wait."
He picked up the Bellweather folder.
"Send someone to check on the Foster workshop."
Grant raised an eyebrow.
"Emilia's family?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Marcus looked at him.
"Because the man who threatened the property may know the documents are with them."
Grant nodded.
"I'll handle it."
Marcus hesitated.
"And Grant?"
"Yes?"
"Don't let anyone know you're checking."
"Understood."
Marcus walked out.
For the first time since Emilia left, his fear was no longer only about his marriage.
He was afraid she might be in danger.
The footsteps entered the workshop.
Emilia crouched silently in the storage loft.
Through a narrow gap between wooden crates, she could see part of the room below.
A man entered.
He was tall, dressed in a dark coat despite the mild weather.
His face was partly hidden by the angle of the light.
He looked around.
Thomas stood near the workbench.
"You should have stayed away."
The man smiled.
"I tried."
"Why come back now?"
"Because the papers resurfaced."
Thomas said nothing.
The stranger's gaze moved around the workshop.
"You always were good at hiding things."
"What do you want?"
"The original agreement."
"You know I don't have it."
The man laughed softly.
"You have copies."
Thomas's face remained blank.
"Even if I did, I wouldn't give them to you."
The stranger took a step forward.
"You're old, Thomas."
Thomas's jaw tightened.
"So are you."
"I can still make your life very difficult."
"You already did."
The man stopped.
Emilia held her breath.
There was history between them.
A lot of it.
Then the stranger said something that made Emilia's blood run cold.
"The girl wasn't supposed to find out."
Thomas looked toward the staircase.
He knew.
He knew Emilia was listening.
The stranger followed his gaze.
His eyes moved toward the loft.
Emilia pressed herself against the wall.
"Who's upstairs?"
Thomas did not answer.
The man smiled.
"Is she there?"
Emilia's heart hammered.
Thomas stepped between the stranger and the stairs.
"Leave."
The stranger's expression hardened.
"You made one mistake twenty-seven years ago."
"What mistake?"
"You trusted Richard Aldridge."
Thomas's eyes darkened.
"No."
The stranger smiled.
"Your mistake was trusting him to keep his word."
He turned toward the door.
Before leaving, he stopped.
"Tell Emilia that her grandfather didn't save Bellweather."
Thomas's face went pale.
"He destroyed it."
The door closed.
Silence returned.
Emilia waited several seconds before descending the stairs.
Her father looked at her.
She had never seen him look so defeated.
"What did he mean?"
Thomas rubbed both hands over his face.
"Your grandfather believed he was protecting our family."
"From what?"
"From Richard Aldridge."
"Why?"
Thomas looked at the metal box.
"Because Richard had discovered something at Bellweather."
"What?"
Thomas opened his mouth.
Then stopped.
A car horn sounded outside.
Thomas went rigid.
Emilia moved toward the window.
A black vehicle was parked across the street.
She could not see the driver.
Then the car pulled away.
Her father whispered, "They're watching us."
Emilia turned.
"Who?"
Thomas looked at her.
"The people who have been waiting for those papers to surface."
Marcus arrived at the Aldridge family house twenty minutes later.
Daniel was waiting in the library.
At thirty-four, he had none of Marcus's intimidating presence. He was lean, athletic, and relaxed, with dark-blond hair and hazel eyes. Where Marcus seemed carved from stone, Daniel had an openness that made people trust him quickly.
Today, however, there was no smile.
"You came."
Marcus closed the door behind him.
"What did you find?"
Daniel placed a folder on the desk.
"I found this in Dad's old study."
Marcus opened it.
Inside was a letter.
The paper was brittle.
The handwriting belonged to Richard.
Marcus read the first line.
Then the second.
His expression changed.
"What is this?"
Daniel looked away.
"I don't know."
Marcus continued reading.
The letter mentioned Bellweather.
It mentioned Thomas Foster.
It mentioned money.
And then he reached the final paragraph.
His hands went cold.
"Daniel."
His brother looked at him.
"This says Dad believed the property belonged to the Fosters."
"I know."
Marcus looked up.
"Then why did he transfer it to us?"
Daniel shook his head.
"I don't know."
Marcus read the final sentence again.
If Emilia ever learns the truth, she must never be allowed to see the original ledger.
Marcus's blood ran cold.
"Emilia."
Daniel nodded.
Marcus immediately pulled out his phone.
He called her.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then he called Thomas.
The call went straight to voicemail.
Marcus looked at Daniel.
"Something is wrong."
Daniel's face tightened.
"What?"
"Thomas isn't answering."
Marcus grabbed his coat.
"I'm going to the Foster house."
Daniel followed.
"Then I'm coming with you."
At the workshop, Emilia stood beside the workbench.
Her father's metal box remained closed.
She stared at it.
"Open it."
Thomas shook his head.
"No."
"You said I deserved the truth."
"I said I would tell you."
"Then tell me."
Thomas looked at his daughter.
"You don't understand what this could do."
"Then help me understand."
He closed his eyes.
For a moment, he looked like the man she remembered from childhood—the father who had carried her home when she fell from her bicycle, who had stayed awake beside her when she was sick, who had taught her how to repair a broken chair.
But this was different.
This was a man standing at the edge of something he had feared for decades.
Finally, Thomas picked up the brass key.
"There is a second box."
Emilia frowned.
"Where?"
"At Bellweather House."
Her heart stopped.
"What is inside?"
"The original ledger."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because the ledger contains names."
"Whose names?"
Thomas looked directly at her.
"People who were paid to make Bellweather disappear from the Foster family."
Emilia felt the room tilt.
"Who paid them?"
Thomas did not answer.
A vehicle stopped outside.
This time, the engine did not leave.
Someone opened a car door.
Then another.
Thomas looked toward the window.
His face went white.
"They found us."
Emilia stepped closer to him.
"Who?"
Thomas gripped the brass key.
"The people who don't want you to reach Bellweather."
The workshop lights suddenly went out.
And in the darkness, someone began pounding on the back door.