Dominic Cross carefully placed the newly discovered strongbox and its leather folder onto a rickety iron reading table. The beam from his lantern illuminated the elegant Pembroke crest, making the faded gold stitching almost shimmer. Arthur lurched forward, his face a mask of desperation.
“You can’t open that!” Arthur declared, his voice a low growl. “That’s private family archives. It’s illegal. A breach of privacy.”
Dominic met Arthur’s gaze calmly. “Mr. Pembroke, as an accredited financial journalist investigating unrelated public land records, and given that this item was accidentally exposed in a public building during a disaster rescue, I have a legal right to inventory exposed historical items. This is now evidence of potential impropriety, given your current actions.”
His words were firm, uncompromising. Arthur visibly recoiled, his shoulders slumping. He knew Dominic was right. His frantic attempts to secure *his* Legacy Box, and the prior actions against me, had inadvertently legitimized the discovery.
Dominic then reached for the thick wax seal on the leather folder. It bore a faint impression of the same Pembroke crest. He pressed his thumb against it, then carefully, methodically, broke the dry seal. A faint crack echoed in the silent vault.
He unfolded the parchment within, the crisp sound loud in the oppressive quiet. His eyes scanned the first few lines, then looked up, meeting my gaze, then Arthur’s.
“It’s a codicil,” Dominic stated, his voice low. “Dated October 2009. From your father, Clara.” He paused, then began to read, his voice clear and resonant. “To Whom It May Concern: Let it be known that the entirety of my liquid assets, totalling £2.4 million, transferred on November 12th, 2008…”
Arthur gasped, a sharp, choked sound. His eyes were fixed on the document, his body rigid. The first truth was about to be revealed.
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