Chapter 17 The Past
Aiden
I was running late. I needed to meet Lena for lunch, and I was still only half-dressed. That woman required a certain level of flair, even for a casual mid-day hookup. I grabbed my expensive watch from the dresser and went to put it on.
That’s when I saw it.
Resting right on my black leather watch case was a small, stark message. A folded piece of paper lay on top of a small, faded piece of beige fabric with a dried blood stain.
I froze. My skin went cold.
I lifted the paper. The message was simple, stark, and terrifying: "I know what you did."
Then I looked at the fabric. It was a small scrap, maybe two inches long, and slightly stiff. I didn’t just look at it; I felt it. A sickening wave of recognition washed over me, so strong it made me gag. It was the inner lining of the custom coat I wore that night, the night six years ago.
The night everything went wrong.
My hand started shaking so badly that I dropped the fabric. It was the absolute, undeniable proof I thought I had buried forever.
The sight triggered the memory instantly, brutally.
The bushy area is close to a small lake. The accident. The girl, screaming. The quick, frantic struggle. The sound of her falling. I was only nineteen then, a stupid, panicked kid. I didn’t mean for it to happen.
Mum always warned us not to ride power bikes at night. I wish I had listened to her. I still remember her so well, she was the one who fixed everything. But then she left. After that big argument with Dad, she just walked out and never came back.
It’s been years now, and she’s blocked every way we could reach her. How could she just abandon her own children like that?
The aftermath of that accident was a blur: the quiet room, the lawyers, the massive amounts of money my father spent, and finally, the courtroom.
I remembered the relief, so cold and absolute, when the verdict was read: Not Guilty.
But I remembered something else, too. The victim’s brother. He was just a kid, really, sitting in the back row. He didn't yell, he didn't cry. He just stared at me with silent, burning hatred. A look that promised forever.
The police lost the evidence. My father paid off the witnesses and the coroner. We bought the truth.
Who is this? How did they get into the house?
I was standing there, heart hammering, trying to hide the note and the fabric in my hand, when I heard the quiet click of the door.
Elsie entered, carrying her small cleaning caddy. She moved with that familiar, almost invisible efficiency.
I spun on her, my usual charm replaced by desperate aggression. I had to know if she was involved, or if she’d seen anything.
"Did you see anyone in here?" I demanded, my voice raw and loud. "Did you see anyone leave this room?"
Elsie was startled. She stopped and looked at me, maintaining that infuriatingly composed look she always had. "No, sir. I just arrived. Is something wrong?"
She glanced innocently at my clenched fist. "What's that you're holding?"
I snapped at her, quickly shoving the evidence deep into the pocket of my jeans. "It's nothing! Get to your cleaning, and stay out of my way."
I walked past her and out the door, leaving her standing there. I couldn't risk another second. I needed an answer. I needed protection.
My mind seized on the logistics. This wasn't something tossed over a wall. Someone had to place this. Someone had been in my private space.
I couldn't breathe. I jammed the note and the fabric into my pocket and burst out of the house. I needed to find out who was near the grounds. The CCTV in the hallway hadn’t been working that week. Maybe someone deliberately broke it. It's all starting to make sense.
I found Mr. Thomas, the aging head gardener, near the main gate. He was meticulously trimming a boxwood hedge, oblivious to the terror mounting in my gut.
"Mr. Thomas!" I barked, startling him. "Did you see anyone near the front gate? Any contractors, any delivery drivers, anyone looking around?"
Thomas slowly adjusted his hat. "Good morning, Mr. Aiden. Just the usual delivery man for the dry cleaning, sir. And that black car Mr. Caleb drove in, but that was hours ago. No one strange. I was here since six."
"No one walking? No one watching the house from the road?"
Thomas shook his head gently. "No, sir. I’d have seen 'em."
His gentle assurance did nothing but amplify my fear. If it wasn't external, it had to be internal.
Next, I found Mr. Field, the driver, in the garage. He was polishing the chrome on the Rolls, completely professional.
"Field, I need you to think carefully," I said, trying to sound calm. "Today, yesterday. Did you see any unusual stops on your routes? Did anyone try to hand you a package? Was there anyone acting strange near the service entrance?"
Field looked me in the eye, his expression unreadable. "No, sir. My focus is entirely on the road and my assigned duties. I observed no irregularities."
Their competence was useless. If the outside was secure, and the staff were either too oblivious or too professional to notice anything, the threat was already inside.
I found my father, in his private office, looking stressed. He was already dealing with a lot of his personal issues with business that only he and Caleb knew about.
I threw the note and the fabric scrap onto his desk,
"I think someone is out to get me," I whispered, barely containing the tremor in my voice. " Look at this! It's from the jacket. The lining."
“Impossible," he hissed. "I had that whole file purged. I paid enough money to make sure no loose threads remained."
He slammed the fabric down and began pacing the luxurious office, his hands clasped tight behind his back. The action was menacing and controlled.
“This is what happens when you act like an irresponsible child at nineteen, Aiden!" he roared, his voice low and vibrating with absolute contempt. "You leave a trail of evidence that costs me millions and risks the entire family name six years later! You are a constant source of shame!"
I flinched, but stood my ground. My blood was boiling, but I clamped down on it. I hated this man. He’d always treated me like a dog, a flawed trophy he couldn't return, even before the accident. Every time he spoke, I wanted to smash something, but I forced the fury back down. I needed him. My survival hinged on his cold, calculating help.
“You promised this whole thing well be cleared up. “My voice rose before I could control it. “I wanted to turn myself in, but you stopped me. You were bent on protecting your image and reputation so you had to buy justice. I didn’t ask you for it. All this is your fault.”
He stared at me with pure, cold fury, his eyes narrowed to slits.
He walked around the edge of the desk slowly, deliberately. The air grew still. I knew what was coming. His hand shot out, not fast, but with crushing force, and delivered a tight slap across my face. The sound was deafening in the silent room, and the impact snapped my head sideways, leaving my ear ringing.
“Don’t ever talk to me like that again, boy.” He warned.
I taste blood. Every instinct screamed at me to walk out, to grab the nearest object, to finally tell this tyrant what I thought of him. I wanted to turn around and leave him, but I didn't move. I forced my head straight. I swallowed the humiliation, swallowing the hatred down into a deep, cold pit. I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.
He stepped back. "We need to find out who placed this, and we need to make them disappear before they can go public. Now." He leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. He examined the fabric and sniffed it. "Who handled the disposal? The cleanup? The contact with the legal team? It was Daron," he muttered. "Go find him. Right now. You tell him that if this comes back to the surface, he's paying the full price, not you."
I left the office, adrenaline surging through me. I didn't care about Lena anymore. I had to find Daron. He is the man who handles all the father’s dirty deeds. He never left any loose ends. How come this one?