Chapter 6 - The Secret Hidden Beneath the Whitaker House|
The Whitaker house stood at the end of a quiet street lined with maple trees.
It was a three-story Victorian with pale blue shutters and a wraparound porch.
My grandmother had lived there for forty-three years.
My mother grew up there.
So did I, during every summer vacation.
I knew every creaking floorboard.
Every stubborn window.
Every place where the wallpaper peeled.
Or so I'd believed.
Now Roman Valenti was standing beside me in the hallway, staring at a small brass plate near the staircase.
"Has that always been there?" he asked.
I looked down.
The plate was shaped like a flower.
"Yes."
He crouched.
"Interesting."
I frowned.
"What?"
"My father had something similar in our old family home."
I stared.
"Roman."
He looked up.
"Yes?"
"Please tell me you didn't bring me here to hunt for treasure."
He smiled.
For the first time, the expression reached his eyes.
"No."
"Good."
"Not exactly."
I laughed despite myself.
The sound surprised me.
It had been four days since my wedding collapsed.
Four days since I'd laughed at anything.
Roman noticed.
For a moment, he looked pleased.
Then he stood.
"Your grandmother's letter mentions old documents."
I nodded.
"Yes."
"Have you ever seen a safe?"
I thought about it.
"There's one in the basement."
His expression changed.
"Where?"
"Behind the old furnace."
Roman stared.
I frowned.
"What?"
"Ren, why didn't you mention that?"
"Because it's an old safe. Grandma used it for Christmas decorations and tax records."
He blinked.
"Christmas decorations?"
"Mostly ugly ones."
Roman laughed quietly.
I found myself smiling again.
Then I remembered why we were there.
We walked downstairs with Rebecca and a licensed locksmith who had been asked to inspect the safe.
The basement smelled of paint, dust, and old cardboard.
The safe sat behind a wooden cabinet.
Its surface was scratched.
The lock looked ancient.
I stared.
"I haven't opened it since Grandma died."
The locksmith examined it.
Then looked at me.
"Do you have the combination?"
I shook my head.
Roman stepped closer.
"Your grandmother gave my father a number once."
I looked at him.
"What number?"
He hesitated.
"August seventeenth."
My heart stopped.
"That's my birthday."
Roman nodded slowly.
The locksmith tried the date in the appropriate format.
The mechanism clicked.
I stared.
The door opened.
Inside were several boxes.
Old photographs.
A velvet pouch.
And a sealed metal container.
Rebecca carefully documented the contents.
Then we opened the container.
Inside were original share certificates.
Property records.
And a handwritten agreement dated thirty-two years earlier.
Roman leaned closer.
His expression changed.
"What is it?" I whispered.
He stared at the document.
"Ren."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"This isn't just about your house."
I looked down.
The agreement referenced a waterfront redevelopment company.
Several properties.
Warehouses.
Shipping facilities.
Land near the river.
My grandmother's name appeared alongside another.
Alessandro Valenti.
Roman's father.
I stared.
"Your father?"
Roman nodded.
I looked at the document again.
The company name was unfamiliar.
Whitaker-Valenti Holdings.
My heart raced.
"What is this?"
Roman slowly sat on an old wooden chair.
For the first time since I'd met him, he looked genuinely shocked.
"My father told me this company had been dissolved."
I swallowed.
"And?"
He looked up.
"If these documents are authentic, your grandmother may have retained significant ownership rights."
I stared.
"Significant?"
Rebecca looked at the papers.
"We'll need experts to examine them."
Roman nodded.
"But the assets involved could be substantial."
My stomach tightened.
"How substantial?"
He hesitated.
"Possibly worth far more than the house."
I looked toward the basement walls.
For years, I'd struggled to pay property taxes.
Worked overtime.
Saved carefully.
Told myself that keeping Grandma's house was worth the sacrifices.
Now I was discovering she might have left me a stake in something enormous.
Roman looked at me.
"Ren, do you know why Derek's father wanted this property?"
I shook my head.
He pointed to one of the documents.
"Because whoever controls the house may also control access to the records establishing the original ownership interests."
My chest tightened.
"So this wasn't about borrowing money?"
"Not only."
I looked away.
The wedding.
The investment.
The forged documents.
Derek's father.
Cassandra.
All of it suddenly felt connected.
Then Rebecca found another envelope inside the safe.
It was addressed to me.
But underneath my name was a sentence written in red ink.
Do not trust the man who asks to marry you before he tells you who sent him.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Derek.
Someone had sent him?
I looked at Roman.
His expression had become unreadable.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man's voice spoke.
"Ren Whitaker?"
"Yes?"
"My name is Victor Harlan."
My stomach tightened.
Derek's father.
He continued.
"I understand you opened your grandmother's safe."
I stopped breathing.
"How do you know that?"
Victor laughed softly.
May you like
Then whispered:
"Because the house was never supposed to belong to you."
