The storm outside intensified, but inside the lighthouse, the air was filled with a tense silence as Eleanor gathered her thoughts. She stared at Nathaniel, his face a mixture of resolve and despair.
"How do we start?" she asked, her voice steady despite the chaos in her chest.
Nathaniel hesitated. "The journal you found—your great-uncle's—it has clues. Names, locations. He was close to exposing them before they silenced him. If we can decode it, we might find their weak point."
Eleanor retrieved the journal from her bag and flipped through its worn pages. Most of the entries were cryptic, written in a shorthand that made little sense. However, near the end of the book, there were a few recurring symbols and a map of the coastline with specific points marked.
"This map," she said, tracing her finger along the markings. "What are these points? Look—one of them is the cave where I found you."
Nathaniel leaned closer, his brow furrowing. "These could be meeting spots. Places where my family—or others—conducted their... business." He swallowed hard. "But this one here," he said, pointing to a spot farther inland, "that's the estate where my family was killed."
Eleanor shivered. "If we go there, we might find something—evidence they missed or something they were trying to hide."
Nathaniel's face darkened. "It's risky. If they're watching, we'll be walking right into a trap."
"We don't have a choice," Eleanor said. "If we stay here, they'll come for us anyway. At least this way, we have a chance to fight back."
The drive to the estate was long and treacherous, the storm showing no signs of letting up. Nathaniel sat quietly, staring out the window as if bracing himself for what lay ahead. Eleanor glanced at him, sensing the weight of his memories.
"What happened that night?" she asked softly.
Nathaniel closed his eyes, his voice barely audible. "I was ten years old. My parents were hosting a dinner for some of their associates. I didn't understand much then, but I knew something wasn't right. There were arguments, whispers of betrayal. That night, men in masks stormed the house. My parents told me to hide, so I did. I heard everything—the screams, the gunshots." He paused, his hands trembling. "When it was over, I was the only one left alive. Someone—a servant, maybe—smuggled me out before the authorities arrived."
Eleanor reached over and squeezed his hand. "We'll get justice for them," she said firmly.
When they arrived at the estate, the sight of the crumbling mansion sent a chill down Eleanor's spine. The once-grand structure was now overrun by vines and decay, a shell of its former glory.
Inside, the air was heavy with dust and silence. Eleanor held a flashlight, its beam cutting through the darkness. Nathaniel led the way, his steps tentative as if the memories weighed him down.
"Over here," he said, leading her to a hidden study. "My father's office. He kept everything here—ledgers, letters. If there's any evidence left, it'll be here."
They searched the room, pulling open drawers and flipping through old papers. After what felt like hours, Eleanor found a false panel in the desk. Behind it was a bundle of documents and a small leather-bound notebook.
Nathaniel took it, his hands shaking. "This... this is my mother's handwriting."
As they opened the notebook, they found detailed records of meetings, names, and transactions—evidence that could expose the organization for what it was. But before they could celebrate, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hall.
"Someone's here," Eleanor whispered, her heart pounding.