Chapter 14 - The Hidden Archive
Back at the estate, the evening snow began to fall again, wrapping the massive stone mansion in a blanket of absolute serenity. Yet, inside Giovanni’s private study, the atmosphere crackled with restless anticipation.
Giovanni sat in his motorized wheelchair by the hearth, looking stronger and more alert than he had in five years. Beside him sat a heavy, fireproof iron lockbox that Viktor had retrieved from a concealed wall panel behind the original library fireplace.
When Lorenzo and I entered, Giovanni raised his hand, pointing a steady finger directly at the rusted brass latch of the lockbox.
"It’s time," the old man rasped out, his voice gaining strength and clarity with every passing day.
Lorenzo stepped forward, kneeling beside his father. He pulled a small, ornate iron key—one he had found tucked inside his father’s old pocket watch—and inserted it into the lock. With a sharp, metallic click, the lid popped open.
Inside lay a collection of faded photographs, legal parchment documents stamped with 1980s government seals, and a thick, leather-bound diary with pages yellowed by time.
I leaned in closely, my eyes catching sight of a photograph resting at the very top of the stack. It showed a young Giovanni standing proudly beside a graceful, dark-haired woman holding a newborn baby boy—but the woman in the photograph wasn't Aurelia.
"Who is she?" I whispered, my voice filled with sudden curiosity.
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Giovanni’s eyes darkened with a mix of profound sorrow and long-suppressed rage. He pointed a trembling finger at the photograph, then tapped his own chest, and finally pointed a sharp, accusing finger toward the empty northern wing of the mansion where Aurelia’s private quarters used to be.
"Elena," Giovanni managed to force out, the name tearing through his vocal cords like a painful confession. "My... first wife. Aurelia didn't just steal the company... she stole our lives."
