PART 11 — The Legacy of the White Rose
The card felt ice-cold between my fingers. My gaze shot to the window beside the front door. The street was quiet. A passing car slowed down near my driveway, then slowly drove on.
Was that him? Was that the sender?
"Mom? Is something wrong?"
Lucas walked into the hallway, a glass of water in his hand. His gaze fell on my frozen posture and the card in my trembling hand. Quickly stepping up to me, he snatched the paper from my grip.
As he read the text, his face changed from concerned to furious. "What is this? Who put this here?"
"I don't know," I whispered. "There was no mailman. It must have been dropped off just now while I was outside with Julian."
Lucas walked to the front door, pulled it open, and looked down the street. No one was visible on the sidewalk. He slammed the door shut again and turned the deadbolt.
"Someone is playing a sick game with us," he said coldly. "Arthur is dead. The estate is settled. Who on earth could this be?"
"The stamp," I said, my thoughts drifting back to the past. "That rose with the black thorn..."
"Do you recognize that symbol?"
"I saw it once," I said in a hoarse voice. "Twenty-five years ago. Daniel had a wooden box in his office safe. Inside was a gold signet ring with the exact same motif. When I asked him about it back then, he flew into a rage. He said it belonged to his father and that I was never to ask about it again."
Lucas examined the card more closely under the lamp. "There's something engraved on the inside. Very small... pressed into the paper."
He held the card at an angle against the light.
"What does it say?" I asked desperately.
"They're coordinates," Lucas said. "And a date. Tomorrow at 2:00 PM."
My stomach churned. We thought the mystery surrounding Daniel had been resolved with Arthur's death. But what if Arthur wasn't the main force? What if Arthur was merely a pawn in a much larger network Daniel had gotten entangled in?
"We're calling the police," Lucas said decisively. He pulled out his phone.
"No, wait!" I stopped him. "Remember what happened when we thought the police could help us? Arthur knew every move we made. If this is a network Daniel borrowed money from twenty years ago, they have informants everywhere."
"Then what do you want to do, Mom? Just drive to those coordinates?"
"We need to know who is behind this," I said. "But we aren't going alone."
Five minutes later, I was on the phone with Julian. He was on his way back to Portland, but when I mentioned the White Rose stamp, he slammed on the brakes immediately.
"The White Rose?" Julian repeated on the other end of the line. His voice suddenly sounded completely different. Not surprised, but terrified.
"Do you know it?" I asked directly.
"My mother has a scar on her shoulder, Claire," Julian said in a low voice. "A branded symbol of a rose with a black thorn. She always told me it was an accident with a hot iron when she was young. But a few years ago, I saw that same symbol on the safe of my father's lawyer."
My blood ran cold. Monique wasn't just a mistress Daniel happened to meet.
"Julian... what was Monique before she met your father?"
There was a long silence on the line.
"I'm not entirely sure," Julian whispered. "But I think my mother wasn't Daniel's victim... I think she was sent to him."
The receiver remained quiet. The past proved to be no straight line of events, but a maze where every door led to an even darker secret.
"Where do those coordinates lead?" Julian finally asked.
Lucas entered the numbers into his laptop. His fingers flew across the keyboard. After a few seconds, a satellite image appeared on the screen.
It was a secluded manor house, hidden deep in the state's forests, a two-hour drive from the city. Owned by a foundation that hadn't been active on paper for thirty years.
The name of the foundation: Societas Rosa Alba. The Society of the White Rose.
"I'm coming back," Julian said resolutely. "We're going there together. But bring a weapon, Claire. Because if my mother is involved in this... then the danger is far from over."
I hung up and looked at the screen. My entire life with Daniel seemed to have been a grand, choreographed performance. And the curtain had not yet fallen.
