My Lovely Headmaster

Chapter 47

The Morrison family home stands like a tomb in the old part of the city, abandoned for twenty years, wrapped in urban decay and forgotten police tape. Vlad insists on coming despite my protests, Leo and Richard flanking us like bodyguards.

"This is where we lived?" I stare at the Gothic Victorian mansion, so similar to the Dickenson estate it makes my skin crawl.

"Your father and Henry Dickenson were business partners," Adrian explains, having insisted on accompanying us. "They built their houses in the same neighborhood, same architect. Mirror images of each other."

Mirror images. Like Julia and me. Like the truth and the lies I've been living.

The front door hangs off its hinges. Inside, dust motes dance in shafts of light through broken windows. Everything is frozen in time—furniture covered in sheets like ghosts, family photos still on the mantle, all covered in twenty years of dust.

"There." I point to the staircase, my hand shaking. "Julia and I were there."

The memories come in fragments, shards of truth cutting through:

Daddy laughing at dinner, Julia and I on either side of him. "My twin stars," he calls us.

Henry Dickenson visiting, always smiling but his eyes cold.

The night—raised voices downstairs, Julia and I creeping from our beds to listen.

"You can't expose this, James. You'll destroy both families."

"I can and I will. You stole from me, from our investors. It's over, Henry."

The gun appearing in Henry's hand.

Daddy's surprised face.

The sound—God, the sound.

I'm on my knees on the exact spot, twenty years later, sobbing. Vlad reaches for me but stops, respecting the boundary I've set even though I can see it's killing him.

"I remember," I whisper. "I remember everything about that night. Julia ran for help. I just... froze. Stared at him. At the blood."

"You were six," Richard says gently. "Freezing is a normal trauma response."

"Theodore arrived within minutes. Had a whole team with him, like he'd been waiting." I look at Adrian. "How did he get here so fast?"

"We think Henry called him before coming here. Theodore knew what his father planned."

"He knew and did nothing to stop it?"

"Theodore doesn't prevent disasters. He manages them."

I stand, legs shaking, and move deeper into the house. The kitchen where Mom made pancakes shaped like stars. The playroom where Julia and I built elaborate worlds with our dolls. My father's study, the door still ajar.

Inside, his desk remains untouched, papers scattered as if he just stepped out. I run my fingers over a letter he was writing:

My darling stars, If something happens to me, remember that I love you both beyond measure. Be brave for each other. Trust in truth, not in—

The letter stops mid-sentence, ink trailing off.

"He knew," I breathe. "He knew something might happen."

Leo picks up a ledger from the desk, scanning it with practiced eyes. "Jesus. Henry stole millions. Your father documented everything."

"That's why he had to die," Vlad says quietly. "My grandfather couldn't let this go public."

"Your grandfather," I repeat, and the words taste like poison.

"I'm not defending him. I'm acknowledging the horror of what my family did to yours."

I move to what was our bedroom, Julia's and mine. Twin beds with matching quilts, still made up like we might come home from school any moment. On my nightstand, a diary with a tiny lock.

The key is in the drawer where I always kept it. Inside, a six-year-old's careful handwriting:

Julia says the Dickenson boys are mean but I think the younger one looks sad. Maybe we could be friends.

The younger one. Theodore.

"Your father was a child too," Leo observes, reading over my shoulder. "When this happened, he was what, twenty-five? Old enough to know better but young enough to be molded by Henry."

"Don't make excuses for him."

"I'm not. I'm trying to understand how someone becomes a monster. It doesn't happen overnight."

Devon's been silent this whole time, but now he speaks: "This is where you were happy. Before everything went wrong."

"How do you know?"

He picks up a photo from my nightstand—Julia and me with our parents, all smiling at a summer picnic. "You can see it. Real happiness, not the constructed kind."

"All my happiness feels constructed now."

"No," Devon says firmly. "When you laugh at my jokes, that's real. When you cry at dog movies, that's real. When you look at Dad when you think no one's watching, that's real too."

"Devon—"

"You love him. Even with everything you've learned, you still love him. I can see it."

"Love isn't enough—"

"You keep saying that, but what if you're wrong? What if love is the only thing that matters?"

Before I can respond, my phone buzzes. Julia.

"I found something in Switzerland. Something about your pregnancy. We need to talk. Don't trust anyone at Blackwood. Not even the ones you think are safe."

"What does that mean?" Vlad asks, reading over my shoulder.

"It means Theodore had contingency plans," Leo says grimly. "Even from prison, he might still be playing the game."

Genesis suddenly gasps, staring at her phone. "Jas, check the news."

The headline makes my blood freeze: "Theodore Dickenson Found Dead in Swiss Prison. Apparent Suicide."

"No," Vlad breathes. "He wouldn't—"

"He would," Leo corrects. "If he thought it would accomplish something. Theodore never did anything without purpose, including dying."

Adrian's phone rings. He answers, his face going pale. "They found a note. A confession that implicates others. People at Blackwood."

"Who?"

"He doesn't say. Just references 'loyal servants who will complete the work.'"

We're still standing in my childhood home, surrounded by ghosts, when we realize the war isn't over. Theodore may be dead, but his poison is still spreading.

"We need to get back to Blackwood," Vlad says urgently. "If there are still loyalists—"

"Devon," I gasp. "They'll target Devon."

We run for the car, but even as we race back to the school, I can't shake the feeling that we're already too late. Theodore's final move is already in play.