Part 6: The Shadow of The Golden Lion
The stench of rotting wood and damp concrete hit my breath as I slipped through the broken fence of the old brewery. The building rose like a black monster against the dull, gray night sky. The Golden Lion. As a child, I had always been told never to play here because the basements were unstable. Now I understood why this place had been chosen: no one in the village would ever think to look here.
My shoes were heavy with mud. My clothes clung to my body, and I shivered uncontrollably from the cold, but the fear inside me was so hot it drove me forward. I held the envelope, wrapped in a plastic bag I had torn from my coat to keep it dry, tightly pressed against my chest.
My phone indicated only eight percent battery. The small screen provided the only light in the darkness.
As I stepped into the covered courtyard of the brewery, I heard a sound. It was a soft, regular beep. A timer.
"Victor?" I called out, my voice echoing hollowly through the immense, empty hall. "It's me, Emma! I'm alone! Show me my son!"
A figure stepped out from the shadows of a large, rusted brewing vat. It wasn't Victor.
It was a woman.
She wore a sleek, dark coat, and her gray hair was pulled back tightly. She looked at me with eyes so cold it took my breath away. She bore a striking resemblance to the photos I had once briefly seen of the powerful Vance family.
"You must be the little suburban missy who thought she could sniff around a rich man," the woman said in an icy, aristocratic tone.
"Who are you?" I asked, taking a step back.
"I am Helena Vance," she said. "Julian's mother... and Victor's. The woman whose family capital you and your bastard child are trying to steal."
My jaw dropped. "Your mother? But Victor..."
"Victor works for me, Emma," Helena interrupted me ruthlessly. "Did you really think a man like Victor had the intelligence to plan this for thirteen years? Victor is merely the crowbar. I am the one who decides what happens to the Vance family bloodline. And we will not let our empire be polluted by an illegitimate child of a provincial Dutch mistress."
"Luuk is your grandson!" I screamed, anger flaring through the pain. "He is the only thing left of your own son, Julian!"
Helena's face didn't twitch a muscle. "Julian was a weakling. A romantic who thought he could change the world by giving away his money to an unknown woman. The will he had drawn up was an insult to our heritage."
She took a step forward. Two armed guards emerged from the darkness behind her.
"Give me the original deed and the savings booklet," said Helena. "If you do, I promise the boy will have a quick death. No pain. No fear."
A chill ran down my spine. A quick death. She had never intended to let Luuk live, even if she got the papers.
"Where is he?" I asked, my fingers clutching the plastic of the envelope.
"Downstairs," said Helena, pointing to a heavy oak door leading to the cellars. "Twenty minutes left, Emma. Then the term of the will expires. As soon as the clock strikes midnight, the transfer is irreversible, and the money will be divided among my foundations."
At that moment, a loud bang echoed from above.
The glass roof of the brewery shattered into thousands of pieces. Heavy shards fell like a hail storm. Two figures descended on ropes from the darkness.
It was Frank, along with one of his men.
A chaotic firefight broke out immediately. Helena's guards turned around and began shooting. Helena was pulled behind a stone pillar by one of her men.
"Emma! The basement!" shouted Frank, seeking cover behind a rusted vat and returning fire. "Go now!"
I didn't hesitate for a second. I ran to the heavy oak door, pushed it open with all my weight, and bolted down the dark stone stairs.
The stairs were slippery and steep. I almost fell halfway down, but I grabbed the damp wall and pushed through. At the bottom of the stairs, I entered a long, narrow hallway with an arched ceiling. It smelled of stagnant water and petroleum.
At the end of the hall, a single lightbulb burned.
There, tied to a wooden chair, sat the boy.
"Luuk!" I screamed.
The boy looked up. The cloth over his mouth had come loose. His eyes were wide with fright, but when he saw me, a strange recognition flickered in his gaze—a recognition deeper than memory.
"Mom?" he whispered in a raspy voice.
As I tried to run toward him, a figure stepped out of the shadows behind the chair.
It was Victor Vance. He held a heavy pistol and aimed it straight at the boy's chest.
"One step closer, Emma," Victor said with his rasping voice, "and he won't make it to his thirteenth birthday."
I stopped abruptly, my breathing ragged. "Victor... please. The money isn't mine. Take it! Take everything! Just let him go!"
Victor laughed, a cold and empty sound. "You still don't get it, do you? This isn't about money anymore. It's about the fact that he exists. As long as he breathes, he is a threat to my mother and me. And besides..."
Victor glanced at the watch on his wrist.
"It's five to midnight. In five minutes, the will becomes worthless. And you're just in time."
At that moment, I heard the basement door slam shut overhead with a loud bang. The sound of the bolt sliding home echoed through the hallway.
We were locked in.
Victor chuckled. "My mother locked the door. She's letting us all die here, Emma. You, me, and the boy. She's not taking any more risks."
At that moment, the timer on the wall began to beep loudly. It wasn't an ordinary clock. It was the detonator for the explosives planted beneath the old building.
Victor stared at the timer, his eyes wide with disbelief. "That old witch... she betrayed me."
