Part 2: The Black Envelope
The words in my grandmother's letter echo in my head while the rest of the family rages in the background. My father, Victor Vance, stomps his foot on the marble floor, screaming that the will is forged, that a lawyer cannot simply bypass the rightful bloodline. But Mr. Harrison remains ice-cold and unperturbed. He explains that the will was drawn up ten years ago by a prominent notary firm in The Hague, precisely at the moment my father and mother decided to gut the family corporation.
My mother, Helena, tries to save face. She steps toward me with a venomous smile, her eyes narrowed with contempt. "Don't think you'll win here, Lucas. This estate, the shares, everything is laden with debt. You're only inheriting misery!" I open the black envelope with trembling fingers, ignoring what she says. Inside is a handwritten note with a number combination and a specific address in Amsterdam: Prinsengracht 42.
Above the numbers is a warning: “They tried to poison me, Lucas. Find the truth before it's too late.” My breath catches. Grandma Evelyn officially died of heart failure last week. But now that I read this, I know her death was not natural. While my uncle and father loudly argue with the security guards called to ban them from the premises, I tuck the letter and the golden key deep into my pocket. I turn around and walk toward the villa's exit. Behind me, I hear my mother's piercing scream: "This is not over, Lucas! I will destroy you!"
