Page 68 of Sebastian.

A delicate, mocking laugh escapes Margaret's lips, aggravating me further. She finds amusement in my suffering, as if my pain is a mere joke. “Oh Sebastian, you really still believe that I’m guilty of orchestrating the car explosion?”

“There's no one else who could have been behind it,” I reply right back. A headache is starting to build behind my eyes at her denial.

Margaret's amusement fades, replaced by a stark seriousness. “While I have made people disappear out of thin air, I can assure you the car accident that took the life of your siblings and Mother wasn't of my doing.”

I look at Margaret, trying to decipher what I see here in the dim light. She’sstilldenying it…it’s hard to stomach. After all these years she can’t even offer me the truth. Her denial about the car incident is frustrating, but I can't shake the feeling that she might know more than she's letting on.

“Why are you lying? I'm not going to go and report you to the police,” I tell her, trying to sound as honest as I can. “If that had been my plan, why wouldn’t I have done it back when the accident first occurred?”

She shakes her head slowly, always poised. “I’m not the one in denial here. I can assure you it wasn't me.”

The headache grows, the pressure behind my eyes getting harder to bear with each passing second. “So if it wasn't you, then who would go to such extremes?” I ask, trying to piece together the puzzle.

Margaret leans in closer, her eyes never leaving mine. God, it’s hard to imagine that this woman is the mother of my kind, loving Julia. “Well…let’s think of who might have something to gain by murdering you, dear.” As I mull over her statement, she keeps quiet for a moment, leaning back on the couch, her eyes still on me. “Maybe someone who might want to become CEO at Van den Bosch Industries?”

I pause, my mind racing to catch up with the revelation. “Wait…you aren't saying that Karl would have tried to kill me all those years ago?” The eventual scenario sounds totally improbable, but the mere thought of it sends shockwaves through me.

“As I said before, it wasn't me,” Margaret replies calmly. “But Karl knew you were going out of the country and obviously knew which car you drove. If he already knew back then about his true lineage, then removing you would make him––”

I finish her sentence, frozen with disbelief. “The oldest son.”

The weight of that revelation hits me like a ton of bricks. Karl, my friend, my half-brother, was willing to go to such lengths to secure his position in the company. Shaken doesn’t even begin to describe what I’m feeling right now. It’s almost impossible to believe that being the oldest child of Johannes Van den Bosch would have meant so much to Karl that he would try to kill me. And if that’s the truth, that means the bond that we’ve formed over the years is nothing but a lie.

It also means that, in my heart, I’ve been blaming my mother-in-law for murders that she didn’t commit…but that’s a problem for another time.

“See? It wasn't that hard to get there,” Margaret says, her words laced with a touch of amusement.

Despite how horrible the idea of Karl being the killer is, I’m a little in awe at the twisted logic of it all. “But even if he had become the oldest son, he could've never gotten the title and estate, right? I mean, he is a bastard child––never recognized by my father.” I try to reason, desperately clinging to some semblance of normalcy.

Margaret's response is chilling in how clear cut it is. “As far as I know, that changed with the Nobility Act of 1994. Now, even children born out of wedlock can inherit nobility titles.”

The room feels like it's spinning, just like it did back at the office. I rub my hand over my chest, distantly wondering how many more shocks my heart can take today. Karl, my half-brother, could have legitimately changed his surname and claimed his rightful place in our family. That changes…a lot of things. And it makes Karl even more dangerous than he was before.

Struggling to come to terms with the magnitude of what it implies, I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, hoping to ward off the migraine that now seems imminent. “So, hold on, you mean he could've really changed his surname and been recognized as the legitimate heir to the Van den Bosch estate, our nobility title, and the company itself?”

“I'm afraid so,” Margaret confirms.

My mind races, trying to piece together this intricate puzzle. Could Karl's desperation to become CEO have driven him to these extremes? Was he willing to eliminate me to secure his place as the heir? The truth is more convoluted and sinister than anything I could have ever imagined. Compared to something that dark, Margaret suddenly seems less diabolical. The real enemy might have been right in front of me all along.

“He was so close to my dad back then,” I muse aloud. “Hell…maybe you are right…maybe he knew all along about his true lineage despite everyone thinking otherwise. But why would he keep it to himself for so long?”

Margaret, always two steps ahead it seems, calmly offers her explanation. “Well, because that would give him motive to be suspect number one in that car explosion, don’t you think?”

Her words hang heavy in the air as I rise once more to pace the room, my hands buried deep in my pockets. It all makes sense, the pieces fitting together seamlessly, but I can't help but recall memories of Karl and me throughout the years. I remember the way he looked up to my father, the bond they shared, and how he was always a part of the big decisions at the company. The memory of Karl being the first one to visit my dad after his heart attack, right beside me at his hospital bed, where I later made a solemn promise to my father to take care of Karl. I’ve always thought of that one gesture, coming to see my father when he was so ill, as a sign that deep down, Karl is a good man. But if Margaret is right, then that visit wasn’t kindhearted. It was just more manipulation…just another tactic to try and replace me when the time came.

God, I don’t know how much longer I can do this. How many times can a single man get his heart torn from his chest before it just becomes too much? I feel like I'm falling apart inside, my emotions threatening to consume me. But I can't afford to show weakness in front of Margaret. I must maintain my composure. She already hates me, and I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that Julia chose a weak man for a husband after all.

“But what proof do we have? This is a theory at best,” I finally say, expressing my doubts, more to myself than anyone else.

Margaret, sipping her tea, takes a moment to ponder the situation. Her sharp, calculating eyes sweep the room as she formulates her response. Then, with an air of quiet certainty, she offers a potential lead. “Did Johannes sign any sort of deals with Ms. Townsend? I'm pretty sure he must have done so.”

I recall the countless hours my father spent in this very room, conducting business deals and safeguarding family secrets. “Eh, I assume he did,” I tell her slowly, the gears in my mind turning over. “But he never told me where that document is. Why would he?”

“Men are creatures of habit, my dear.” Margaret finishes her tea and stands, straightening her skirt. “Johannes might have placed it somewhere he believed was hidden, but there will be record of it somewhere. All you have to do is look. If I were you, I’d call your father’s attorney and ask him, he must know where that document is. Find it, and you shall find some answers. For now, though, I’m going to take my leave, if there isn’t anything else you need from me, that is.”

A million things could be said right now. Margaret didn’t kill my mother, brother, and sister. All these years…no. There isn’t time to delve into that right now. Later, once things with Karl are settled.

“No Margaret…that will be all. Ah…thank you–” I start, but she holds up her manicured hand.

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