Chapter 12 - THE CHOICE
I stared at Lydia, unable to speak.
She had been like a daughter to me. After her parents died, I had taken her in. Educated her. Supported her. Trusted her.
“You?” I said, the word barely audible.
Lydia folded her arms. “Why does everyone always look so surprised? Just because I’m quiet? Because I smile and nod and do exactly as I’m told?”
“Lydia—we loved you,” I said.
“You loved Arthur,” she said, her voice sharpening with years of pent resentment. “Everything was always Arthur’s. The company. The fortune. The respect. I was just… the niece. The charity case. I was never truly family.”
“That isn’t true,” I said.
“Isn’t it?” She gestured toward Elias. “Elias understood. He told me what I was worth. What I could have. If I was willing to be patient.”
Arthur stepped forward. “So you helped him. You gave him information. You watched us. Reported back.”
“I did what was necessary,” Lydia said. “To get what I deserved.”
Elias stepped between us.
“Enough,” Elias said, his voice dropping to a cold, commanding tone. “This changes nothing. Arthur appears alive—an inconvenience, certainly—but the documents are already filed. The funds are moved. By the time anyone untangles it, we will be untouchable.”
He reached into his coat. His hand closed around something heavy.
Arthur stepped in front of me. “Put it away, Elias. The police are already on their way. Thomas called them from the car.”
Elias paused. A flicker of doubt crossed his face. He looked toward the window, as if expecting sirens any second.
Lydia took a step back, glancing between us. “You said no one would find us,” she whispered to Elias.
“I said we would be gone before they looked,” Elias snapped. He turned back to Arthur. “You’re bluffing. If the police were coming, you’d have sent them in first.”
Arthur didn’t answer. He simply stood tall, his expression calm and unyielding.
Elias’s jaw tightened. He turned sharply to Lydia. “Grab the files. We leave now. Through the back.”
Lydia hesitated. She looked at me—at the hurt in my eyes, the disbelief. Then she looked at Elias, at the way his hand still gripped something inside his pocket.
“I can’t,” Lydia said quietly.
Elias stopped. “What?”
“I said I can’t.” She lifted her chin, tears suddenly spilling over, but her voice remained steady. “I wanted fairness. I wanted to be seen. But I never wanted to steal everything. I never wanted to hurt Aunt Margaret. Not truly.”
“Foolish girl,” Elias said, his voice turning icy. “You are in this as deep as I am. There is no walking away.”
“Then let me make my choice,” Lydia said. She turned to me. “Aunt Margaret—Elias keeps the master copies in the safe behind the bookshelf. Combination 4-12-81. Everything is there. The transfers. The forgeries. The records.”
Elias lunged.
Arthur moved faster. He caught Elias’s arm before he could reach Lydia, twisting it hard behind his back. Elias grunted, struggling, but Arthur held firm.
“Go,” Arthur said to me. “Get the files.”
I rushed to the shelf, fingers trembling as I turned the dial. 4-12-81. The lock clicked. The door swung open.
Inside sat a single heavy binder, labeled TRANSFERS – AUTHORIZED. I pulled it free and opened it on the desk.
Page after page—every signature, every date, every transaction. And tucked at the back, a full confession in Elias’s own hand, detailing every step of the plot: the fake accident, the insurance policy, the forged signatures, the money laundered through offshore accounts.
He had kept it all. In case he ever needed leverage against Lydia.
I closed the book and turned back to the room.
Elias stood breathing hard, eyes fixed on the binder in my hands. Arthur held him steady, but Elias was watching Lydia.
“You’ve ruined everything,” Elias said to her, quiet and venomous. “You could have had it all.”
“I’d rather have nothing and keep my self-respect,” Lydia said. She looked at me, her face pale. “Do what you must, Aunt Margaret. I’ll wait here. I’ll tell them everything.”
May you like
Elias went still. Then he laughed—a sharp, bitter sound.
“Very well,” he said. “Take the files. Call the police. But remember this—you may have the documents. You may have the truth. But some things… some things can never be put back the way they were.”
