CHAPTER 6: THE RETURN OF THE GHOST
For a moment, I forgot everything Adrian had done.
The betrayal.
The humiliation.
The pain.
Because the fear in his voice was real.
Not the carefully controlled fear of a businessman protecting his reputation.
Not the fake concern he had shown when investors were watching.
This was different.
This was the voice of a man who had just discovered the nightmare he had spent his entire life running from had finally found him.
“Where are you?”
I asked.
There was a long pause.
Too long.
“Adrian.”
“I’m at the Vale headquarters.”
His voice was low.
“I came here after the board meeting.”
I looked at my father.
He immediately understood.
The war had moved from the mansion to the battlefield Adrian cared about most.
His company.
His empire.
His name.
“What happened?”
I asked.
Adrian breathed heavily.
“They sent me a package.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
Another pause.
“But inside was something that only one person could have.”
My father stepped closer.
“Ask him what it was.”
I repeated the question.
“What was inside?”
Adrian didn’t answer immediately.
Then I heard his voice crack.
“A photograph.”
My heart stopped.
“What photograph?”
“Me.”
Silence.
“A photograph of me when I was seventeen.”
I frowned.
“That’s not unusual.”
“No.”
His voice became darker.
“It wasn’t just a picture of me.”
I waited.
“It was taken the night my father disappeared.”
The room became completely silent.
Even my father stopped moving.
“What else was in the package?”
Adrian swallowed.
“A letter.”
“What did it say?”
His answer came quietly.
“It said…”
He paused.
“‘You spent twenty years pretending you escaped me. But you were always following my plan.’”
A chill moved through my body.
Andrew Mercer.
The man who had supposedly died.
The man who had manipulated everyone from the shadows.
“He contacted you directly?”
I asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you see him?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you where he was?”
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
Something about this felt wrong.
Too carefully planned.
Too precise.
Andrew Mercer wasn’t simply returning.
He was making an entrance.
He wanted everyone afraid before he appeared.
“Adrian.”
I said his name.
He became quiet.
“What?”
“For once in your life, tell me the truth.”
A painful silence followed.
Then he answered:
“I don’t know what’s true anymore.”
That sentence surprised me.
Because Adrian Vale always knew what he wanted people to believe.
But now…
He sounded lost.
“I need to ask you something.”
“What?”
“Did my father really help build my company?”
I looked at my father.
“Yes.”
The answer came immediately.
“And did your family know?”
I hesitated.
Because this was the question I knew would come eventually.
“Yes.”
Adrian laughed softly.
Not with humor.
With pain.
“So everyone knew.”
“No.”
I corrected him.
“Not everyone.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t know how much.”
“But you knew enough.”
His voice became colder.
And for a second, the old Adrian returned.
The man who blamed others.
The man who refused responsibility.
“You knew I was living a lie.”
I felt anger rising.
“No.”
My voice sharpened.
“You were living a lie because you wanted to.”
Silence.
“Adrian, do not stand there and pretend you were innocent.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You took credit for things you didn’t build.”
“I worked.”
“So did I.”
The words came out before I could stop them.
A painful truth.
“I stood beside you.”
“I defended you.”
“I protected your reputation.”
“And you still chose to hurt me.”
The silence on the phone was heavy.
Then Adrian whispered:
“I know.”
Two words.
But they sounded different.
Not an excuse.
Not a defense.
Regret.
Real regret.
For the first time…
I heard something I had wanted for three years.
A man admitting he was wrong.
But regret did not erase damage.
And it did not bring back trust.
“I need to know one more thing.”
Adrian said.
“What?”
“Why did your father hate my father?”
I looked at Charles Whitmore.
My father’s expression changed.
He knew this moment would come.
“Because Andrew Mercer killed someone.”
My eyes widened.
“What?”
Adrian heard it.
“What did you say?”
I repeated it.
“My father said Andrew Mercer killed someone.”
Another silence.
Then Adrian asked:
“Who?”
My father looked at me.
And answered quietly.
“Your mother.”
The phone became silent.
Completely silent.
“Adrian?”
No response.
“Adrian?”
Then finally…
A broken whisper.
“No.”
I heard him breathe heavily.
“No, that’s impossible.”
My father spoke louder.
“Andrew Mercer caused the accident that killed Evelyn’s mother.”
Adrian’s voice changed.
“You knew?”
The question wasn’t directed at me.
It was directed at my father.
“Yes.”
“And you protected me anyway?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
My father answered:
“Because your father destroyed my family.”
A pause.
“But your mother believed you were not him.”
Adrian said nothing.
Because there was nothing to say.
The truth was too complicated.
Too painful.
Too late.
Then another sound came through the phone.
A door opening.
Adrian suddenly became alert.
“Wait.”
“What happened?”
“I’m not alone.”
My entire body tensed.
“Who is there?”
No answer.
Then I heard footsteps.
Slow.
Calm.
Confident.
A voice entered the room.
An older man.
A voice filled with control.
“Hello, son.”
Adrian stopped breathing.
The phone remained connected.
I heard Adrian whisper:
“Dad?”
My father immediately grabbed my arm.
“Put it on speaker.”
I did.
The voice came through clearly.
Andrew Mercer.
Alive.
“You look disappointed.”
Adrian’s breathing became heavier.
“You’re dead.”
A quiet laugh.
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Everyone believed that.”
My father’s face hardened.
Andrew continued:
“But some people are very good at disappearing.”
I heard Adrian move.
“What do you want?”
The older man laughed.
“What do I want?”
A pause.
“I want what was always mine.”
The room felt colder.
“The company?”
“No.”
Andrew’s voice became softer.
“I want my son.”
Adrian said nothing.
Then Andrew added:
“And I want the woman standing beside him.”
My blood ran cold.
Because I knew exactly who he meant.
Me.
Andrew Mercer continued:
“Evelyn Whitmore.”
A pause.
“You have no idea why your mother protected my son.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“Because the truth about her death…”
Another pause.
“Will destroy everything you believe about your family.”
The call suddenly ended.
I looked at my father.
Neither of us spoke.
Because we both understood.
Andrew Mercer had returned.
But he had not returned for money.
Not for revenge.
He had returned because he was holding a secret that could destroy the Whitmore family, the Vale empire…
And the marriage that had already fallen apart.
Then my father’s phone received a message.
He opened it.
His expression changed.
“What is it?”
I asked.
He turned the screen toward me.
One sentence appeared:
“Ask your daughter why her mother left her a letter she was never supposed to find.”
My heart stopped.
Because I had never heard about any letter.
And my father…
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My father looked like a man who had just realized the one secret he buried from me…
Was finally coming back:
