PART 6 — THE MAN WHO WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO BE ALIVE
PART 6 — THE MAN WHO WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO BE ALIVE
No one spoke.
The silence inside the hidden room was suffocating.
Detective Sarah Mitchell stared at the computer report for several seconds before looking up.
"Run that again."
The forensic analyst typed quickly.
The result didn't change.
Administrator Login
User: Richard Cole
Date: Three Days Ago
Time: 11:42 p.m.
The analyst swallowed.
"It's authentic."
Mrs. Alvarez leaned against the wall to steady herself.
"No..."
"He can't be alive."
Mitchell looked at her.
"Tell me everything."
The elderly housekeeper slowly sat down.
"I started working for the Cole family when Adrian was six."
She folded her trembling hands.
"Richard loved his son."
Her voice cracked.
"He wasn't perfect."
"But he wasn't cruel."
She looked toward the hallway where officers continued carrying away evidence.
"The cruelty began after Celeste took control."
Melissa frowned.
"I thought Richard died in a plane crash."
"So did everyone."
Mrs. Alvarez nodded.
"That's what the newspapers said."
She closed her eyes.
"But I never believed it."
"Why?"
"Because I cleaned his office."
Everyone waited.
"The day after the funeral..."
She whispered.
"His passport was gone."
Detective Mitchell immediately wrote it down.
"Anything else?"
Mrs. Alvarez nodded again.
"The safe."
"What about it?"
"It was empty."
"Except for one thing."
"A handwritten note."
"What did it say?"
The old housekeeper repeated the words she had memorized nearly twenty years earlier.
Trust no one. Especially her.
Mitchell frowned.
"'Her' meaning Celeste?"
Mrs. Alvarez nodded.
"I think so."
The forensic analyst interrupted.
"Detective."
"I found something else."
He projected another screen onto the wall.
Financial transfers.
Hundreds of them.
Small amounts.
Five thousand dollars.
Ten thousand.
Twenty thousand.
Every month.
For eighteen years.
All sent to the same offshore account.
Account holder:
R. Cole Holdings
Melissa stared.
"Someone has been paying him."
The analyst nodded.
"Regularly."
"From whose accounts?"
He clicked again.
The answer stunned everyone.
"The transfers originated..."
"...from Celeste Cole."
Even the detectives exchanged glances.
For eighteen years...
A widow had been secretly sending money to her supposedly dead husband.
Mitchell immediately ordered,
"Freeze the account."
The analyst shook his head.
"We're too late."
"What do you mean?"
"It was emptied..."
He zoomed in.
"...twenty-seven minutes ago."
My heart skipped.
"Someone knows."
Mitchell nodded slowly.
"Yes."
"And they're watching us."
Just then...
One detective's radio crackled loudly.
"Detective Mitchell."
She grabbed it.
"Go ahead."
"We've got a situation downstairs."
"What happened?"
"A man just arrived asking for Mrs. Cole."
"Who is he?"
"He refuses to identify himself."
Mitchell's expression hardened.
"Hold him."
The radio answered immediately.
"We tried."
"He left."
"What vehicle?"
"Black Bentley."
"No license plates."
The analyst suddenly looked at another monitor.
"Detective..."
"The surveillance camera outside the building caught him."
Mitchell leaned over.
"Zoom in."
The image sharpened.
A tall man.
Gray hair.
Dark overcoat.
Walking with absolute confidence.
His face remained partially hidden beneath the brim of a hat.
Then...
Just before entering the Bentley...
He looked directly into the security camera.
Only for one second.
One clear frame.
The analyst froze.
Mrs. Alvarez screamed.
Dropping to her knees.
"It's him."
No one had to ask who.
Mitchell enlarged the image.
Age had changed him.
Gray at the temples.
Deeper lines around his eyes.
But the face matched the photographs perfectly.
Richard Cole.
Alive.
Melissa whispered,
"Why would he come here?"
I answered before anyone else could.
"To see whether Celeste failed."
Everyone turned toward me.
I looked at the frozen image.
"If he disappeared voluntarily..."
"...then he never stopped controlling this family."
Mitchell nodded slowly.
"It would explain everything."
"The surveillance."
"The hidden accounts."
"The manipulation."
"The long-term planning."
She looked back at the screen.
"We've been chasing the wrong mastermind."
Just then...
The younger attorney quietly spoke.
"I know that face."
Everyone looked at him.
"You've met him?"
He nodded.
"Twice."
"When?"
"Within the last year."
Silence.
He looked genuinely frightened.
"I thought he was..."
He struggled to finish the sentence.
"...a private investor."
"What name did he use?"
The attorney answered without hesitation.
"Mr. Blackwell."
The analyst immediately searched the name.
Hundreds of corporate records appeared.
Blackwell Capital.
Blackwell Consulting.
Blackwell International.
Every company had one thing in common.
None of them officially existed before Richard Cole supposedly died.
Mitchell looked toward me.
"I think your wedding was never the real objective."
"What do you mean?"
She crossed her arms.
"You weren't chosen by Adrian."
"You were selected."
"By someone much higher."
The words echoed through the hidden room.
Selected.
Not loved.
Not pursued.
Chosen.
Like every woman whose file lined these walls.
I suddenly remembered something.
The engagement dinner.
Three months earlier.
A waiter had accidentally spilled wine on my dress.
While everyone rushed to help...
An older man I didn't recognize had quietly picked up my phone from the table.
He held it for only a few seconds before handing it back with a smile.
At the time...
I thought nothing of it.
Now...
I realized he had looked exactly like the man in the surveillance image.
My stomach tightened.
"He touched my phone."
Mitchell looked sharply at me.
"When?"
I explained.
The forensic analyst immediately took my phone.
Within minutes...
He found it.
A tiny piece of spyware.
Professional grade.
Undetectable.
Installed three months ago.
Melissa stared.
"So he knew everything."
I nodded slowly.
"Our conversations."
"My location."
"My plans."
"My meetings."
Even the hidden camera in my necklace.
If Richard Cole had access to my phone...
He had probably watched everything that happened on my wedding night.
Mitchell's phone rang.
She answered immediately.
After only a few seconds...
Her expression changed.
"What?"
Everyone waited.
She lowered the phone.
"The airport."
"What about it?"
"A private jet registered to Blackwell Holdings..."
She looked directly at me.
"...requested emergency clearance exactly twelve minutes ago."
"Destination?"
She answered quietly.
"There isn't one."
The analyst frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"It filed no destination."
A long silence followed.
Because experienced investigators knew exactly what that meant.
Someone wasn't escaping.
Someone was making themselves impossible to track.
Richard Cole had been alive for eighteen years.
Now he knew we had uncovered the truth.
And somewhere above the city...
He was already disappearing again.
But before leaving...
He had sent one final message.
As officers searched the Bentley's abandoned parking space, they found a single white envelope addressed in elegant handwriting.
May you like
It contained only one sentence.
"The game has finally become interesting, Elena."
