The VanLauron Inheritance

CHAPTER ONE

The bells began tolling just as we crested the hill. Each peal cut through the morning mist like a shiver across the valley, deep and deliberate. I pressed my palms together in the car, feeling my own pulse in rhythm with the solemn toll. It was strange, how a sound could be both comforting and heavy all at once.

The VanLauron estate rose before me, its gray stone walls veiled in ivy, windows dark and gleaming faintly with the reflection of a cloudy sky. The mansion had always felt immense, even when Grandpa was alive, but now it felt almost... watching. I swallowed, the air tasting of damp stone, fallen leaves, and a faint echo of something sweet—Grandpa's old cologne, maybe, lingering in the halls still.

I stepped out onto the gravel, the stones crunching under my shoes, and tugged my bag strap over my shoulder. My chest tightened, a dull ache settling behind it. I hadn't realized how much I'd clung to him until now, to his presence, his guidance, his laughter that always seemed just for me.

Other cars arrived in a muted procession, polished and black, their drivers stepping out with careful faces. I barely noticed. My eyes had already found the house's subtle details: the way the ivy curled around the corner of the wall, the shadowed archway that seemed almost too quiet, the small, locked side door tucked beneath the stone like a secret.

The cousins arrived next, moving in careful, rehearsed manners. Their faces were polite, their voices soft, but something about the rigidity of their movements made me instinctively keep my distance. I nodded softly at them. They nodded back. There was no warmth in it, only acknowledgment.

"Eleanor," Mandy said, her voice hesitant, almost faltering, as if she were testing the air. "It's... good to see you."

I gave a faint smile, not because I wanted to, but because grief demanded civility. "You too," I murmured.

Steven shifted beside her, his hands clasped tightly. "You... you okay?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I'll manage," I said softly, eyes drawn once again to the looming mansion. Inside, the shadows seemed heavier than usual, like the stone itself held its breath.

Carly, Uncle Milton's wife, passed by, adjusting her pearls with precise fingers. She didn't look at me, only the estate, as though measuring the light or the angles of the courtyard. Shannon and Uncle Henry followed, their presence quiet but undeniably there, like a weight pressing on the edges of the morning.

The front doors opened, the groan of hinges carrying through the cold air, and I felt a shiver creep down my spine. Inside, everything was still. Even the cousins seemed to pause, as if waiting for the house to give permission to move.

I hesitated at the threshold. Grandpa had always loved the quiet corners, the spaces where things weren't immediately visible, the overlooked places where the heart of something truly lived. I felt that now, a tugging sense that the estate itself remembered him, that his absence had made it more alive somehow, more hollow.

The ceremony room lay ahead, doors wide, the interior bathed in pale light. Chairs were arranged in careful rows. Fresh flowers leaned delicately in their vases, white lilies and soft roses that smelled faintly of earth and rain. The scent made my throat tighten, and I inhaled slowly. I could almost hear Grandpa's voice, low and gravelly, urging calm, steady breaths. "Watch, Ellie. Notice the small things. That's where life hides."

I moved forward slowly, letting the polished floors reflect the soft light across my hands, my coat, the careful steps of relatives who seemed to float more than walk. I chose a seat near the back, just off to the side, so I could see everything but remain unseen. From here, I could watch faces—quietly, carefully. I could see the small tremors in a hand, the tension in a jaw, the careful restraint of grief or composure.