The afternoon sun broke through the heavy rain clouds three hours later.
Vincent stood inside the secure vault room of the central city bank.
Clara stood right beside him as the bank manager unlocked the thick steel box.
The brass key fit perfectly into the ancient dual lock mechanism.
The heavy drawer slid open with a soft metallic click sound.
Inside the box lay a stack of tied yellowing envelopes and legal documents.
On top of the papers sat a small framed photograph of a young woman.
She was smiling brightly while holding a tiny baby boy in her arms.
Vincent picked up the photograph with gentle, trembling fingers.
Vincent: This was taken right before she was forced to run away.
Clara: She never stopped loving you for a single second, Vincent.
Vincent opened the first envelope and read the handwritten words on the page.
His mother had detailed the full corporate fraud committed by his father's board.
She had also written dozens of personal messages intended for her growing son.
Vincent: Where is she buried, Clara?
Clara: She is not buried anywhere, Vincent.
Vincent froze in place and looked up at Clara with wide eyes.
Vincent: What do you mean by that?
Clara: She survived the night at the train station and moved overseas.
Clara: She has been living under an assumed name in a quiet coastal town.
Vincent felt his heart race as a wave of pure hope washed over him.
Vincent: She is still alive?
Clara: She has been waiting for the day Arthur could no longer hurt you.