Chapter 10 - The Voice from the Past
The steel lid of the lockbox popped open with a faint hiss of compressed air. Inside, resting on a bed of faded red velvet, sat an old cassette recorder, a handful of micro-cassettes labeled with dates from thirty years ago, and a thick stack of bank transfer receipts printed on heavy, dot-matrix paper.
Arthur reached down and picked up the cassette recorder. It was an antique model, bulkier and heavier than the sleek digital devices of the modern era, but its mechanical buttons looked pristine, preserved by the airtight seal of the box.
"What are those dates on the tapes?" Julian asked, leaning over the desk to get a closer look.
"Nineteen-ninety-four," Arthur answered quietly. "The exact month my first wife died in the coast road accident. The investigation was closed in forty-eight hours, ruled a tragic loss of control in a severe rainstorm."
Arthur pressed the play button on the machine. For a moment, there was only a loud hiss of magnetic tape static, and then a clear, sharp voice filled the silent study.
"If you are listening to this, Arthur, it means I didn't survive the night," the recorded voice spoke. It was a woman’s voice—soft, elegant, and filled with a terrifying, sorrowful clarity. It was the voice of Victoria’s predecessor, the original Mrs. Vance, whose portrait hung in the East Gallery. "Victoria and Julian’s father didn't just embezzle the trust funds. They engineered the brake failure on my car. They want the shipping routes, and they are willing to kill anyone who stands in the way of the corporate merger."
Julian staggered backward as if he had been physically struck, his hands gripping the edge of the mahogany desk for balance. "That's... that's impossible. My father was dead by ninety-four. He died of a heart attack six months before the accident."
"Or so the death certificate stated," Arthur said coldly, his eyes locking onto Julian with a sudden, devastating intensity. "A death certificate signed by the exact same corrupt municipal doctor who cleared Victoria's family of tax fraud thirty years ago."
Julian stared at Arthur in sheer horror, his chest heaving as the pieces of a monstrous, generational conspiracy fell violently into place. "You think my father faked his own death? You think he's still out there?"
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Before Arthur could answer, a soft rustling sound came from the direction of the Chesterfield sofa. Maya sat up, rubbing her sleepy blue eyes, looking confusedly between the two pale, tense men standing over the desk.
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