On the front were only three words.
To Ashcombe Family.
Julian opened it carefully.
Inside lay a faded photograph.
A young woman stood smiling beside a small cottage.
Around her neck hung the remaining eleven pearls.
On the back someone had written:
If you're reading this, then I never made it home.
Julian continued.
My name is Rose Bennett.
My mother was Eleanor Ashcombe.
She never abandoned your family.
She was taken.
The ballroom seemed to disappear.
Every word struck harder than the last.
According to the letter, Eleanor had been kidnapped by a trusted employee working for someone inside the Ashcombe estate.
She escaped years later.
But by then everyone believed she was dead.
Ashamed.
Traumatized.
Too frightened to return.
She started over under a different name.
Eventually she gave birth to Rose.
Before dying, Eleanor entrusted Rose with the family pearls.
One pearl carried the engraved crest.
Proof of who she truly was.
Rose spent years trying to contact the Ashcombes.
Every letter disappeared.
Every phone call ended mysteriously.
Someone had prevented the truth from reaching them.
Until now.
Julian slowly lowered the letter.
"There was someone intercepting everything."
"But who?"
An elderly voice answered.
"I know."
Everyone turned.
Standing near the orchestra was Harold Simmons.
The Ashcombe family's retired attorney.
"I should have spoken years ago."
His hands trembled.
"It was Gregory Ashcombe."