Chapter 7 - The Letter Opened
I stared at the real gold medallion in Bellamy’s hand, my mind struggling to process his level of strategic deception.
"You risked my life using me as bait to flush out a traitor?" I demanded, anger flaring hot in my chest.
Bellamy met my glare without flinching.
"I ensured you were never in any real danger from Marcus. I needed Victor to believe he had won," he explained calmly.
Vivienne emerged from the shadows, having hot-wired an old pickup truck parked near a deserted diner down the road.
"We need to move. Marcus is heading toward a private airfield in New Jersey," Vivienne reported from the driver's seat.
We climbed into the truck, the heater barely cutting through the freezing chill of the night.
As Vivienne navigated the dark highways, Bellamy pulled a thick, wax-sealed envelope from his inner jacket pocket.
"My father's letter," Bellamy announced quietly, holding it out to me.
"You said it could only be opened in the presence of my family," I reminded him, staring at the ancient wax seal.
"You are Juliet's blood. It is your right to break the seal," he stated, placing the envelope gently in my lap.
My hands trembled slightly as I traced the faded, elegant handwriting of a man I had never known.
I broke the wax seal and pulled out a single sheet of heavy parchment paper.
The letter was written in beautiful, flowing French.
I began to read it aloud, translating the words as my heart pounded in the quiet cab of the truck.
"My dearest Juliet, if this letter has found you, then the worst has come to pass, and Victor has betrayed me."
"I have secured the ledgers in the vault beneath the old theater in Manhattan, just as we planned."
"But the ledgers are merely a distraction for Victor's greed."
I paused, rereading the next line to ensure I hadn't made a mistake in translation.
"The true wealth of the syndicate, the untraceable bearer bonds, are hidden in the one place Victor would never look."
Bellamy leaned closer, his eyes wide with anticipation. "Where?"
I swallowed hard, finishing the final sentence of the letter.
"I hid them in the walls of the small bakery you always loved in Queens."
The truck went completely silent.
"My grandmother bought a small bakery in Queens twenty years ago," I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow.
"She ran it until the day she died. It's the property I inherited to pay for my father's medical bills."
Bellamy let out a sharp, incredulous laugh.
"Your grandmother was sitting on a half-billion-dollar fortune, baking croissants," he marveled.
Before we could fully process this massive revelation, Vivienne slammed on the brakes.
We skidded to a halt just outside the rusted gates of the private airfield.
Through the chain-link fence, we saw Marcus handing the fake medallion directly to an older, distinguished man standing near a private jet.
May you like
It was Victor Bellamy.
Victor inspected the medallion, smiled cruelly, and raised a suppressed pistol, shooting Marcus squarely in the chest.
