Victor: Leo... my sweet boy... is that really you?
Leo: It's me, Daddy. I missed you so much while I was trapped in the wall.
Victor dropped to his knees on the cold marble floor, completely ignoring the plaster dust that ruined his expensive black trousers. He wrapped his arms around the tiny boy, lifting him close to his chest while heavy tears streamed down his face. Nana stepped back, holding her breath as she watched the billionaire hold the child he thought he had buried months ago.
Victor: How is this possible? I saw the medical reports. I went to the funeral service!
Nana: Mr. Victor, she forged those papers. I found the boy when I heard him tapping behind the master bedroom closet.
Eleanor: Victor, don't listen to this crazy housemaid! She is trying to ruin our family to extort money from your estate!
Victor: Shut up, Eleanor! Just shut your mouth right now!
Eleanor: Victor, please! The child is sick in the head! He was put away for his own safety!
Leo: I am not sick, Daddy. She put me in there because I saw her open the floor safe in your study.
Victor lifted his head from his son's shoulder, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face Eleanor, who was slowly taking a step backward toward the grand staircase.
Victor: What floor safe? The one holding the trust fund bonds and the family real estate deeds?
Leo: Yes. She had a man with her. They were copying your signatures on big blue folders.
Eleanor: That is a lie! He is making things up! A six-year-old child cannot understand legal papers!
Nana: He is telling the truth, sir. Look at the device in his hand. He was holding it the entire time I pulled him out.
Victor gently set Leo down on his feet and stepped closer to Eleanor. The wealthy real estate tycoon looked at his wife as if he were seeing a dangerous stranger for the very first time in his life.
Victor: Hand me that recorder, Leo.
Leo: Here, Daddy. I pressed the red button like you taught me when we played spy games last year.
Eleanor: Victor, give me that recorder right now! You have no right to listen to private conversations in my home!
Victor: This is my father's house, Eleanor. My family built this estate, and every single cent of my fortune belongs to my son!
Eleanor: You gave me power of attorney when you got sick last winter! I run this estate now!
Victor: That power of attorney ended the moment you brought a fake death certificate into my court probate hearing!
Victor pressed the play button on the small black device. A sharp static sound filled the quiet hallway, followed immediately by Eleanor's unmistakable voice speaking clearly through the tiny speaker.
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