PART 10 — THE HIDDEN ARCHIVE
The flash of the metallic object in the intruder's hand cut through the tension in the hallway like a knife through butter. My breath caught, but adrenaline surged through my veins with an intensity I hadn't felt in all those years filled with grief and loneliness. I was a mother who had found her son after thirty years; I wasn't going to surrender just like that.
Before the scar-faced man could take another step, Lucas did something unexpected. With lightning speed, he grabbed a heavy coat rack from the wall and hurled it forward with full force.
The pole hit the man squarely in the chest, causing him to stumble backward and crash against the doorpost.
"We're getting out of here, Mom!" Lucas shouted as he turned around and grabbed my arm.
But instead of fleeing, I pointed at the old closet in the hallway—the closet where we used to hang coats, whose bottom panel had always sat crookedly.
"No, Lucas! Wait!" I cried out. "Your father's letter... he mentioned something about evidence. Check the bottom board!"
The scar-faced man had picked himself up by now, furious, his face flushed red. "Damn idiots! Get them!" he roared to his accomplice standing behind him.
Lucas understood immediately. With a powerful kick, he slammed against the lower panel of the hallway closet. The wood broke open with a loud bang, and behind the paneling a small metal safe anchored into the wall was revealed.
The accomplice rushed toward us, hands outstretched to grab Lucas. Lucas whirled around and delivered a hard punch to the man, hitting him squarely in the jaw. With a dull thud, the accomplice crashed backward to the floor.
But time was running out. The scar-faced man finally pulled the firearm from his pocket and aimed directly at Lucas's chest.
"Hands up! Hands up, or I'll shoot right now!" he roared, his finger already resting on the trigger.
I closed my eyes. This couldn't be true. After thirty years of searching, after thirty years of pain, was it going to end here?
Then the bedroom door behind us flew open with a hard slam. Willem stood in the doorway. He leaned heavily against the frame, but held an old, thick logbook high in his hand.
"Are you looking for this?" Willem's voice resounded through the hallway, smoky but strong enough to capture the intruder's attention. "It's all in there. Every name. Every transfer. If you do anything to us, this goes straight to the federal police. It's already ready to be sent off."
The scar-faced man froze. His weapon trembled briefly, torn between the desire for revenge and the fear of losing everything.
And then, from the distance, sounded the redeeming wail of sirens echoing through the dunes.
