PART 7 — Blood Ties and Betrayal
My world stood still. The sound of rain lashing against the chapel roof, the wind whistling through the broken door, the rustling of the armed men's clothing—everything faded into the background. The only thing I saw was the face of my own son, Julian.
Julian. My oldest child. The boy I had rocked on my lap, whose knees I tended when he fell, whom I had sent to university with the money Thomas and I had saved through hard work.
"Julian…?" I stammered, tears carving paths through the wrinkles on my cheeks. "No… This is a misunderstanding. What are you doing here?"
Julian took a step forward. His expensive leather shoes clicked sharply against the stone floor. His face showed zero emotion. There was no trace left of the loving son who used to visit me every month with a bouquet of flowers.
"There is no misunderstanding, Mother," Julian said ice-cold. "Father was a man of the past. He didn't understand how the world works. He was sitting on a goldmine of information—information worth billions on the international market—and he chose to bury it in a dirty church floor!"
"Your father was trying to protect the truth!" I screamed, a wave of disgust surging through me. "He was trying to prevent the guilty from getting away with it!"
Julian shrugged patronizingly. "Truth is a luxury for poor people, Mother. I've built a career. I'm on the verge of being appointed State Secretary. Do you think I'm going to let my future be ruined by a few dusty documents from 1978? Father threatened to make everything public. He wanted to block my promotion!"
Elena, standing beside me, stared at Julian with her mouth open. "You murdered your own father…?" she whispered.
Julian looked at Elena coldly. "My 'father' died because his heart couldn't handle the pressure when I confronted him. I didn't give him the injection, if that's what you think. But he refused to tell me the location of this box. He thought he was smart using you, Mother, as a pawn. He knew I would never hurt you… or so he thought."
"And would you hurt me, Julian?" I asked with a trembling voice. I stared straight into his eyes. "Would you shoot your own mother for a file?"
Julian remained silent for a moment. A brief flash of doubt flickered in his eyes, but faded just as quickly. He motioned to one of the armed men beside him.
"I don't have to shoot you, Mother," he said. "You're 67. You're lonely, confused, and grieving. If you're found dead tomorrow in a car along with your neighbor after an accident, no one will ask questions. They'll say it was a tragic incident involving a demented old lady who got lost in the night."
The cold calculation in his voice cut deeper than any knife. The son I had raised had turned into a monster driven by power and greed.
"Give me the case, Mother," Julian said, holding out his hand. "Don't make this worse than it already is."
I looked at the case in my hands. Inside lay the proof of everything Thomas had tried to protect. And inside lay the key to exposing my own son's corruption. If I handed this over, Thomas's sacrifice would have been in vain.
"No," I said quietly but firmly.
Julian furrowed his brow. "What did you say?"
"I said NO!" I screamed.
At that exact moment, I thrust my hand into my jacket pocket and pulled out the pistol I had taken from Victor. I didn't aim it at Julian—I couldn't point it at my own child—instead, I aimed it at the massive brass chandelier hanging from the ceiling above Julian's men.
I had never fired a gun in my life. My hands shook. But I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger.
A LOUD BANG echoed through the chapel.
The bullet struck the rusted chain of the chandelier. With a deafening clatter of iron and glass, the hundreds-of-pounds structure crashed downward right onto Julian's armed men.
Sparks flew, dust and mortar swirled down, and panicked screams filled the room.
"Run, Elena!" I screamed.
I grabbed the metal case and Elena's hand. We sprinted as fast as our old legs could carry us toward a small door behind the altar leading to the old monastery garden.
Behind us, I heard Julian shouting furiously: "Grab them! Don't let them escape with that case!"
We burst out into the stormy night. The monastery garden was a labyrinth of high ivy walls, stone arches, and sunken pathways. The rain beat down mercilessly.
"Where do we need to go?" Elena gasped as we ran through the mud.
"To the river at the edge of the grounds!" I cried. I remembered the map from Thomas's diary. A narrow border river flowed at the back of the monastery, leading into Belgium. Thomas used to keep a small rowboat hidden there for his escape routes.
We heard the footsteps of Julian's men storming into the garden. Flashlight beams swept across the hedges.
We reached the riverbank. The water flowed wildly and darkly from the heavy rain. And there, tied to a wooden stake beneath an overhanging willow tree, lay an old wooden rowboat.
"Get in!" I yelled to Elena.
Elena climbed fearfully into the rocking boat. I untied the rope and was about to step in when a hand grabbed my shoulder tightly.
I was pulled backward and fell into the mud. I looked up.
It was Julian. His face was smeared with soot and mud, his eyes wide with madness.
"It's over, Mother," he said, trying to yank the case from my hands. "You're not going to ruin my life!"
We wrestled in the soaking-wet mud. I fought with a strength I didn't know I had, driven by the memory of Thomas. My fingers locked around a heavy stone lying beside me in the mud, and I drew back…
* * *
