"I didn''t mean it."

    "Just heed my advice. Marion''s sweet-talk game is stronger than you think. The

    news must have covered both kidnapping cases. Figure out why those three are

    hiding it from you."

    Drake went back to his room, leaving Debra outside.

    Her mind was a mess. She couldn''t understand why even Marion chose not to tell

    her the truth.

    Footsteps creaked upstairs. Debra looked up to see Ivan descending.

    Her eyes narrowed. "I told you not to clean the second floor and above. What

    were you doing up there?"

    Ivan stammered, "I''m sorry. Someone mentioned the attic hadn''t been cleaned in

    years. I wanted to help."

    "Attic?"

    "The one on the third floor. It''s locked, so I came down."

    Debra''s pulse quickened as she realized the mastermind was feeding her clues

    through Ivan.

    She yed dumb. "Alright. Remember, don''te up here again without my

    permission."

    "Yes, Mrs. Houston." Ivan retreated.

    Debra stared at the staircase for a while and turned to look at Andrew''s room. It

    was closed and not guarded.

    She approached, but her hand

    hovered near the knob. That

    kidnapping case was a permanent

    scar for Andrew. Mentioning it would

    do nothing but hurt him again.

    She turned away and headed back to her room.

    Behind the door, Andrew sat rigidly in his wheelchair. Only when her footsteps

    faded did he unclench his fists.

    If Debra had knocked on the door

    and walked in to ask him everything,

    he wouldn''t have been able to hide

    without leaving any traces.Content

    Fortunately, she didn''te in and put him in a tight spot.

    If possible he hoped that she knew

    nothing. Those things were all in the

    past. Remembering them brought

    nothing but pain.

    Barton entered, holding an old key. "Sir, the attic key."

    Andrew took it, the metal cold in his palm. "Some things shouldn''t remain."

    He turned to the window and unclenched his fist. The key slipped from his fingers,

    vanishing into the garden below.

    The attic held his most precious mementos. Yet his face stayed nk, the pain

    locked deeper than any vault.

    Barton froze, unsure of what to say.