Vincent frowned.
Why had he never noticed that?
He kept reading.
The security camera covering the storage room had been disabled between 6:31 and 6:48.
Sixteen minutes.
Daniel had already left.
Vincent's heart began beating faster.
"Who had access after six?"
His assistant checked the file.
"Only you, Daniel, and the night security manager."
"Who was the security manager?"
"Marcus Reed."
Vincent froze.
Marcus Reed.
His former business partner.
Marcus had worked with Vincent for twenty years.
He had been responsible for security.
He had also been the person who first told Vincent that Daniel had stolen the watch.
Vincent stood.
"Where is Marcus?"
The assistant looked at him.
"He died eight years ago."
Vincent felt sick.
"What about his records?"
"I'll find them."
"Do it."
The assistant left.
Vincent stared at the photograph.
He whispered,
"Daniel..."
For the first time in fifteen years, doubt replaced certainty.
And doubt was dangerous.
Because once you begin questioning the story you built your life around, everything can collapse.
That afternoon, Emily sat alone in a small café three blocks away.
She looked at her father's watch.
She had carried it for years.
Her father had given it to her on his last birthday.
He had been sick.
Very sick.
She remembered sitting beside his hospital bed.
He had held her hand.
"Emily."
"Yes?"
"There will come a day when you need to know the truth."
"What truth?"
"About Bellmont."
"Mr. Bellmont?"
Daniel had nodded.
"Take the watch to him."
"Why?"
"Because he needs to see it."
Emily had cried.
"I don't understand."
"You will."
He had never explained more.
Now she had finally met Vincent.
And the meeting had gone exactly as her father predicted.
He had judged her.
He had looked at her clothes.
Her bag.
Her shoes.
He had assumed she couldn't afford anything in his store.
Emily almost smiled.
Her father had known him well.
But she also knew something else.
Her father had not wanted revenge.
He wanted the truth.
That was why she had come.
Not to embarrass Vincent.
Not to demand money.
Not to accuse him.
She simply wanted to know why her father had carried so much pain for fifteen years.
Her phone rang.
It was her younger brother, Noah.
"How did it go?"
Emily sighed.
"Exactly how Dad said."
"What happened?"
"He told me to leave."
Noah laughed bitterly.
"Of course."
"But something changed."
"What?"
"He saw the watch."
"And?"
"He looked terrified."
Noah became silent.
"Maybe Dad was right."
"About what?"
"That the watch would force him to remember."
Emily looked at the old watch.
"There's something else."
"What?"
"Dad told me never to open the wooden box until Vincent was ready."
Noah frowned.
"Do you think he's ready?"
Emily looked through the café window.
"I don't know."
That evening, Vincent went home.
He didn't eat dinner.
He didn't watch television.
He sat in his study surrounded by old documents.
At midnight, he found something.
A handwritten note.
It had been tucked inside an old inventory book.
The handwriting belonged to Daniel.
Vincent read it.
"Vincent,
If you are reading this, something has gone wrong.
I did not take the Bellmont No. 7.
Marcus did.
I saw him remove it.