Chapter 246

Logan

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the little silver key in the palm of my hand.

“I should just go and do it,” I whispered, more to myself than to my wolf. “Get it over with, right?”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” my wolf added. “It’s a vault. It’s probably just money.”

Just money.

When my mother had suddenly died, my father had suddenly become very wealthy. I didn’t know whether it was that he took money from her that I didn’t know she had or that he doubled down on his illegal dealings, but I always assumed it was the latter. We had, after all, not lived a fabulously wealthy lifestyle before then.

My mother owned a little shop to help us make ends meet, and our house hadn’t been fancy. Surely she didn’t have much to leave behind when she passed—or rather, as she had implied in her letter, when my father had killed her.

But now, after reading the implications in that letter and receiving the key, I was beginning to think differently. Maybe there was more to my mother than I realized.

And maybe it was time to find out.

Every morning, the sun would rise, casting its golden glow across the city, and there it would be, sitting on my bedside table: the small, old key. It had become a part of my daily ritual to pick it up, turn it over in my hands, and then, with a sigh, set it back down.

The key to my mother’s vault, a Pandora’s Box of sorts, filled with potential discoveries I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

But as the days had turned into weeks, and the weeks had turned into months, the weight of the unopened vault began to press heavier on my mind. I knew I had to face whatever was waiting for me inside.

It was a part of my past, a part of my mother’s legacy, and it was time.

Ella was at her wedding dress fitting this morning with her family; her father was using our study for some virtual business meetings and would be occupied for a few hours at least, and I had nothing better to do this morning.

And so, with a deep breath, I pocketed the key and made my way out the front door.

The bank was an imposing building in the heart of the city, its marble columns and grand facade a testament to the wealth it held inside. I walked through the revolving doors, the key burning in my pocket. The familiar scent of polished wood and ink filled my nostrils as I approached the teller.

“I need to access a vault,” I said, my voice steady despite the way I actually felt.

The teller, a middle-aged man with a stern face, peered at me over his glasses. “Vault number?”

I swallowed and set the key down onto the counter. “Whichever vault this key goes to.”

The teller paused, slowly picking up the key. He turned it over in his palm, inspecting the faded number in the light. And then, when his gaze shifted over to me, recognition dawned across his face. “Are you Logan Barrett?” he asked.

I nodded. I even pulled out my ID—the temporary one that I had been given since my license was still suspended, although the time was thankfully almost up—just in case. But he only glanced at it before he was hopping down from his stool, a curious expression on his face.

“Of course, Mr. Barrett. Right this way.”

He led me down a corridor, the sound of our footsteps echoing off the marble floors. There was a descent down a grand marble staircase into a sprawling underground maze, and then there was another long corridor after that. After what felt like an eternity, we finally arrived at a large steel door, and he gestured for me to step forward.

“This is it,” he said, unlocking the door. “Your mother’s vault.”

I hesitated for a moment, my hand hovering over the keyhole. The final barrier between me and the past. With a steadying breath, I inserted the key and turned it. The lock clicked open, and the door swung slowly inward with a deafening creak.

The vault was much larger than I had anticipated, a dimly lit room filled with shelves and boxes lining the walls.

“I can give you some privacy,” the teller said. “Just knock, and I’ll open the door for you.”

I nodded. My heart raced as I stepped inside, the door closing behind me with a soft thud.

The first thing that caught my eye was the gold. Bars upon bars of it, stacked neatly on shelves, glinting in the dim light. I furrowed my brow as I walked up to one of the shelves and picked up one of the bars; it was cool and heavier than I had expected.

“Gold?” I muttered. “How…”

“This is a fortune, Logan,” my wolf said. “She was hiding this all along?”

“I guess so,” I whispered, placing the gold bar back into its place. Somehow, my mother had hidden a fortune here, one that Leonard apparently never knew anything about. My breath caught in my throat as I ran my fingers over the cool metal, the weight of what this meant slowly sinking in.

But it wasn’t just the gold. There were jewels too, precious stones of every color, sparkling in their cases. It was a treasure trove, something out of a fairy tale. And it was all mine.

But how? It made no sense; my mom was a middle-class woman. She owned a little shop to make ends meet. This, this… This was a fortune fit for royalty.

“Oh my god,” I muttered as I turned around, taking in the view. “This is… unbelievable.”

Even my wolf was speechless. Almost instantly, though, my mind began to whirl with possibilities.

This much money could ensure that my family would never need to work a day in their lives for generations to come. I could take it all, convert it to cash, add it to the money I had leftover from selling the mansion. I could buy three or four multi-million dollar mansions with this. I could invest it, quadruple it within a few decades.

The possibilities were endless.

But as I stood there, surrounded by all of this wealth, something washed over me. It crossed my mind that, even though I hadn’t recognized the feeling at first, I was… uninterested.

I realized then that it was because I didn’t want this money. I didn’t want to be like my father, obsessed with money and power. I wanted to be better, to do better.

I wanted my mother back, and she wasn’t here. This was just money; nothing more.

I made a decision then and there. I would donate it, give it to those who needed it more than I ever would. I would talk to Moana after the wedding, see how we could use it to make a real difference. She was the Golden Wolf, after all; she was the figurehead of humanitarianism in this day and age.

I knew, then, why my mom led me here. She knew that I, unlike my father and my brother, would know what to do with this money.

In that moment, it felt as though she was watching over me. If I concentrated hard enough, I swore I could feel her hand on my shoulder. It felt as though she had led me to Ella, led us through those trials together, led Ella to that silver box, and had led me to the letter that was hidden inside. Not before I was ready, and not after.

Rather, at just the right time.

But as I turned to leave, something small and silver caught my eye. A locket, lying on a shelf amidst the gold and jewels. Furrowing my brow, I picked it up, the metal shockingly warm against my skin, and popped it open.

Inside, there was a tiny photo. I had to squint just to make it out in the dim light, but I could see her: my mother, young and beautiful, smiling at the camera as the sunlight caught her hair. She looked just the way I remembered her.

And on the other side, there was a delicate engraving tucked into the curvature of the locket, so faint I almost didn’t notice it at first. But when I did, I realized that this was the greatest treasure that this vault had to offer. And this was why she had led me here.

“To my dearest, with all my love.”