# Chapter 8: The Man Behind the Curtain
The words lingered over the gallery like a gathering storm.
"...someone may have been using Grant."
Detective Elena Brooks didn't dismiss the possibility.
She had spent nearly twenty years investigating violent crimes.
One lesson had repeated itself over and over again:
The loudest suspect was rarely the smartest one.
She looked from Arthur Vale to Grant Holloway.
"If you're telling the truth..."
Her voice was measured.
"...then someone manipulated this situation."
Grant nodded almost immediately.
"I've been saying that."
"No," Brooks corrected.
"You've been denying responsibility."
She stepped closer.
"Those are two very different things."
Grant lowered his eyes.
For the first time since the investigation began, his arrogance had given way to something unfamiliar.
Regret.
"I assaulted Mara."
His words came quietly.
"I can't deny that anymore."
The room grew still.
"I grabbed her."
"I pushed her."
"I hit her."
He closed his eyes.
"I'll live with that."
I looked at him without speaking.
The confession didn't erase the pain.
It didn't erase the bruise on my face or the fear I'd felt only an hour earlier.
But it mattered.
Because it was the first honest thing he'd said all night.
Grant looked at Detective Brooks again.
"But I never planned to kill anyone."
The detective's eyes narrowed.
"No one mentioned murder."
Grant's face went blank.
For a split second, he looked as though he'd realized he had said too much.
"I..."
"I misspoke."
Brooks folded her arms.
"Or you know something we don't."
Before Grant could answer, the forensic analyst interrupted.
"Detective."
He pointed toward the recovered messages.
"I've traced the anonymous number."
Brooks walked over.
"Who owns it?"
"That's the strange part."
"There is no registered owner."
"A burner phone?"
"No."
The analyst enlarged another screen.
"The number never connected to a cellular tower."
Arthur frowned.
"How is that possible?"
"It was routed entirely through encrypted satellite relays."
Brooks exchanged a glance with one of her cybercrime officers.
"Professional."
The officer nodded.
"Very."
The analyst continued.
"Whoever sent these messages knew exactly how to avoid traditional tracking."
Grant stared at the monitor.
"I've never seen that number."
The analyst looked at him.
"I believe you."
Several guests looked surprised.
The analyst explained.
"The communication only flowed one way."
"What do you mean?"
"Grant sent messages."
"But the replies were automatically erased from his device within seconds."
Brooks frowned.
"So someone was controlling the conversation."
"Exactly."
Grant slowly sat down in one of the gallery chairs.
His shoulders slumped.
"I thought..."
He rubbed his face.
"I thought I was talking to one of my father's advisors."
Arthur immediately looked at him.
"What advisor?"
Grant hesitated.
"I never knew his name."
"He always contacted me before important business meetings."
"He claimed he handled sensitive matters for my father."
Brooks asked, "Did your father ever confirm that?"
Grant's silence was answer enough.
"No."
"He never did."
"I just assumed."
Arthur walked slowly toward him.
"How long has this person been contacting you?"
Grant thought carefully.
"Almost two years."
"What did he ask you to do?"
"Mostly small things."
"Attend meetings."
"Introduce investors."
"Deliver sealed envelopes."
Grant looked up.
"I never questioned it."
Arthur exchanged a glance with Detective Brooks.
Neither of them liked where this was heading.
Brooks spoke first.
"Grant..."
"If someone manipulated you for two years..."
She paused.
"...then tonight wasn't their first operation."
The words settled heavily across the room.
The forensic analyst suddenly looked at another screen.
"Detective."
"What now?"
"I've recovered metadata from the deleted messages."
Brooks stepped beside him.
"What does it show?"
He zoomed in.
"Every message passed through the same encrypted server."
Arthur leaned closer.
"Can you locate it?"
The analyst nodded slowly.
"Yes."
He typed rapidly.
The room waited.
After several tense moments, an address appeared on the screen.
No one spoke.
Arthur's expression changed instantly.
Detective Brooks noticed.
"You recognize it?"
Arthur nodded once.
"I do."
"What is it?"
His voice became unusually quiet.
"It's not a business."
"It's not one of Holloway Enterprises' offices."
Brooks waited.
Arthur looked directly at me.
"It's the old Vale estate."
My heart skipped.
"The mansion?"
Arthur nodded.
"The one your mother refused to sell before she died."
A chill ran through me.
The estate had stood abandoned for nearly twenty years.
No one in our family had lived there since my mother's funeral.
Detective Brooks frowned.
"Who owns it now?"
Arthur's expression darkened.
"Legally..."
He paused.
"Our family still does."
Brooks looked back at the screen.
"So someone has been operating from an abandoned mansion belonging to the Vale family."
Arthur nodded.
"It appears so."
Grant slowly stood.
"I've never been there."
"I don't even know where it is."
Brooks believed him.
His fear no longer looked rehearsed.
It looked genuine.
One of the officers hurried into the gallery.
"Detective."
She turned.
"What is it?"
"We just received a report from patrol officers."
"Go ahead."
"The old Vale estate..."
He swallowed.
"...is on fire."
Every person in the gallery froze.
The officer took a shaky breath before continuing.
"Neighbors reported flames less than three minutes ago."
Arthur Vale closed his eyes.
As if he already knew exactly what the fire meant.
Someone wasn't just destroying a building.
Someone was destroying the past.
May you like
And with it...
Every secret that had remained buried for twenty years.
