XIV

Predictably, Victor's words make his blood boil.

"No," Henry counters. "It is you who are broken. You, mom, Alice… All of you."

He fully expects his father to deny the claim—he expects him to offer some other excuse, some other act of mental gymnastics to justify his actions. However, Victor seems to simply deflate: his slack shoulders make his appearance even more pathetic than it already is.

"You're probably right," he concedes in a raspy voice. "Probably… I mean, just look at you, Henry: we've obviously done something wrong… We failed as parents: that much is evident.

"So, if you think that… Well, it kind of makes sense, doesn't it?"

Henry is silent. Victor sighs, sitting once again.

"You're in luck: the fortune you seek must still be in our old house." Victor rubs the back of his hand at his battered eyes. "If people had known about it, it would have been taken from me once they arrested me.

"However, I don't think anyone has even dared to set foot in that place… Not after what you did."

"Where, exactly?" Henry cuts him off impatiently. "I was in that house a few days ago." Her father doesn't need to know that's his current place of residence. "If no one has ever found it, it must be well-guarded."

Victor nods: "I don't know if 'well-guarded', but definitely somewhere not too obvious…"

"Where?"

"In my bedroom closet, on the top shelf, there's a false wall where a safe is hidden from view. The key I have lost. I imagine this won't pose a problem for someone with your… skills. The money should be there."

"Thanks for your cooperation, Victor," Henry snaps.

The old man grimaces. Henry impulsively decides to point it out to him in a mocking tone: "What is it? I hope you're not expecting me to address you as 'father', are you now?"

Victor shrugs.

"I know I have forfeited the right to such a title."

Henry frowns. Now that he's gotten what he was after, he's in no particular rush.

"I must say I'm intrigued," Henry admits then. "You know what I've done. And you consider it a heinous deed."

"It is."

"Not the point," he replies dismissively. "The point, Victor, is that instead of being… I don't know, angry? Furious? Instead, you seem… sad."

"My son is a murderer," Victor sighs. "My son, whom I love so very much, murdered the rest of our family in cold blood."

"Yes, we've established that previously," Henry repeats. "What of it?"

"And… that's it." His voice is barely a thread. "I can't hate you, Henry, despite what you've done.

"If it was my hate you sought, I'm afraid I will have to disappoint you."

"Your hate?" Henry cannot stop himself from laughing. "Old man, that day you didn't meet the same fate as your wife and daughter only because my abilities were not yet fully developed."

"How convenient, then, that you let me live," Victor mutters. "So now you know where to find what you're looking for."

Henry purses his lips into a thin line.

"Yes, and that's another matter… Aren't you going to lie to me? You're simply telling me where the money is stored and that's it? I thought you had more of a fighting spirit in you, Victor.

"Oh, no, I beg your pardon, I got confused—that's only against defenseless babies, isn't it?"

Victor lets out a short, sad laugh.

"Ah, Henry. Your arsenal is truly infallible.

"The fact you even need to ask is further proof of my tremendous failure as a father," Victor explains. "The reason, the simple reason why I willingly put everything I have at your disposal, is because you are my son, Henry.

"And a father's love—love itself, my son—will always be unconditional."

Henry remains unfazed by his statement —they are but mere words from the mouth of a decrepit old man, after all.

"Well, that was extremely… informative. That is to say, at least I got the location of what I was looking for, because the rest has been but a waste of time. But thanks anyway, Victor.

"Enjoy your stay."

"Son," his father calls him then, before he can even start to leave, and Henry hates himself for delaying his departure at his request, "Henry, I want to ask you something. Just one thing, I promise."

"Ask, then," he urges. "I shall see if I still have any patience left for today."

"Where…? Where have you been all this time? The time I was incarcerated? If you're just now asking me about my fortune…" Victor shakes his head. "Where have you been?"

Henry smiles with utter disdain—he hopes his father hears it in his voice—and answers truthfully.

"In hell."