Chapter 8: The Box Beneath the Floor
The office smelled like dust and old paper.
It felt untouched.
Like time had stopped the moment my grandfather left.
His wooden desk remained in the corner.
The same desk where he used to let me draw while he worked.
The same desk where he once told me, “People who hide things are usually afraid someone will find them.””
I never understood what he meant.
Not until now.
I walked slowly around the room.
My mother stood in the doorway.
She looked like she wanted to say something.
“Mom.””
She flinched.
I almost forgot the last time I called her that without anger.
“Tell me the truth.””
She looked down.
“I was scared.””
“That’s what everyone says.””
“I know.””
Her voice cracked.
“But it’s true.””
I waited.
She sat in the old chair near the window.
“Your father convinced me that if you controlled the company, everything would fall apart.””
I laughed quietly.
“So he convinced you your own daughter was dangerous.””
“No.””
She shook her head.
“He convinced me that I was protecting you.””
I stared at her.
“You actually believed that?””
Her tears fell.
“I wanted to.””
That answer hurt more than a lie.
Because it meant she knew.
Some part of her knew.
I opened drawers.
Nothing.
I checked shelves.
Nothing.
Then I remembered my grandfather.
He loved puzzles.
He loved hiding things in plain sight.
I looked at the old bookshelf.
One book was sticking out slightly.
A collection of his handwritten journals.
I pulled it.
A small click sounded.
The floor beneath the desk shifted.
I froze.
Camille, who had followed me inside, whispered:
“Simone…”
I moved the carpet.
A small metal handle appeared.
My hands trembled as I pulled it.
A hidden compartment opened beneath the floor.
Inside was a black box.
My grandfather’s initials were engraved on top.
J.H.
I carried it onto the desk.
Nobody spoke.
Not my mother.
Not Camille.
Not even my father, who had followed us into the room.
I opened the box.
Inside were documents.
Photographs.
A small recorder.
And a letter.
My name was written on the front.
Not Simone Hale.
Just Simone.
Like my grandfather knew exactly who I was beyond my father’s name.
I opened it.
My dear Simone,
If you are reading this, then Richard found a way to hurt you before you were old enough to understand why.
My breath caught.
I looked at my father.
His face changed.
The letter continued.
Your father is not the only person responsible. Others helped him. Some because they were afraid. Some because they wanted what belonged to you.
My fingers tightened around the paper.
The recorder sat beneath it.
I pressed play.
Static filled the room.
Then my grandfather’s voice.
“If you are hearing this, I am gone.””
My eyes burned.
I hadn’t heard his voice in years.
“I need you to understand something, Simone. Your father did not become this person overnight.””
A pause.
“He was always capable of choosing power over people.””
My father looked away.
The recording continued.
“The first betrayal happened before you were born.””
My heart stopped.
Before I was born?
“What?”” I whispered.
The recording went on.
“Richard was not supposed to inherit my company. He knew that. He resented that. And when he discovered my plans for Simone, he made a decision.””
The room felt colder.
“He decided his own daughter was an obstacle.””
My mother covered her mouth.
My father suddenly stepped forward.
“Enough.””
I turned.
“You knew about this recording.””
He said nothing.
That was answer enough.
I pressed play again.
My grandfather’s voice returned.
“The most important evidence is not in this box.””
I frowned.
“Then where?””
The recording continued.
“It is hidden where Richard would never look.””
A pause.
“Because he believed Simone would never return.””
My eyes moved around the office.
Then I saw it.
The old family portrait hanging above the fireplace.
My grandfather had always hated that painting.
I never knew why.
I walked toward it.
Behind the frame was another envelope.
My name.
Again.
I opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
And this time, I recognized the person standing beside my father.
My own mother.
But she looked much younger.
And she was holding a document.
A document with my name on it.
Camille looked over my shoulder.
Then she whispered:
“Simone…”
I turned the paper around.
At the top were the words:
*Legal Transfer of Guardianship.*
May you like
And underneath my mother’s signature was a date.
The day before my grandfather died.
