Chapter 9
1866words
The Hollywood special effects guild president's share created a chain reaction: Buzzfeed did a feature story, makeup bloggers on TikTok were tagging me like crazy, and even producers' agents sent me private messages inquiring about my summer internship interests.
Savannah Pierce disappeared from my sight. When her followers saw me, their eyes no longer showed mockery, but a mixture of fear and jealousy.
I had won.
But this victory lasted less than a week.
---
That night, Leo's mother called, her voice tired and hoarse. She said that the belongings left by Leo's father, the once-famous action star Richard Vance, needed to be sorted out.
He asked if I would go with him.
I agreed. I knew he needed me. That fragile yet resilient trust we had just established between us was facing its first real test.
The Vance family mansion sat atop a hill, like a castle forgotten by time. After Richard Vance passed away, the place had become empty. We walked into his dust-sealed study, where the air was filled with the smell of old paper, leather, and faint cigar smoke.
This was a room fit for a king, with walls covered in photographs of him with world leaders, and trophies gleaming gold in glass cabinets. But now, everything was covered in a layer of dust, like the set of a play after the final curtain.
Leo said nothing and began sorting through things. He opened drawers one by one, flipped through stacks of documents, his movements mechanical and numb.
I quietly stayed by his side, helping him sort through things. This man, who stood behind me like a mountain supporting me just a few days ago. Now, it was my turn to become his pillar.
When he opened the last locked drawer, his movements stopped.
It was an unremarkable wooden box with no markings on it.
Leo's breathing became heavy. He opened the box with a small key, and there were only a few items inside: an old cassette tape, some yellowed sheet music, and a letter.
He picked up the cassette tape, his eyes filled with painful struggle. I recognized the name, written in marker as "Alex".
It was Ryder's brother, the musical genius who committed suicide due to depression, and also Leo's once best friend.
Leo placed the cassette tape into the old tape player in the study and pressed play.
After a burst of static, a young, passionate voice flowed out of the speaker, accompanied by an acoustic guitar. The melody was sad yet beautiful, like a sigh traveling through time and space.
Then, Leo picked up those sheets of music.
One of them was his father's most famous hit song, "Ashes of Glory." The other one, in completely different handwriting, childish yet powerful, contained the same melody but with entirely different lyrics.
"Lost Echoes." Leo's voice was as cold as ice.
He unfolded the letter, which was written by his father to Alex, dated just one month before Alex committed suicide.
The content of the letter was brief, yet like a poisoned dagger.
"Alex, this song doesn't belong to you. It's too great to be buried in the hands of a nobody. I will make it legendary, as it deserves. Forget about it, and forget about me. —R.V."
The room was deathly silent.
I looked at Leo, his face like a canvas drained of all color, those eyes that always burned with flame now contained nothing but ashes. His hands were trembling slightly.
His father, that Hero revered by all, not only stole his dear friend's son's song, but also delivered the final blow when he was at his most desperate.
"Leo..." I reached out, wanting to touch him.
"Don't touch me." His voice was so hoarse it was barely audible.
He stood up, pacing back and forth in the room like a beast trapped in a cage. Each step felt like it was treading on my heart.
I understood then. Leo had always carried the guilt over Alex's death, believing his own distance had led to the tragedy. But the truth was, the one who killed Alex was Leo's most admired father. This family's glory was built upon the bones of a dead boy.
Hours later, he stopped, his eyes burning with a kind of resolute, self-destructive light.
"I want to make all of this public," he said.
My heart sank. "Leo, do you know what this means?"
"I know." He looked at me, his gaze unusually calm. "It means the Vance name will go from being a legend to becoming a joke. My mother will be devastated, the family business will fall apart. And I will become the traitor who destroyed everything with my own hands."
He paused for a moment, his voice dropping lower: "And the lawyer says that if it involves copyright fraud and compensation for Alex's family, the FBI might step in to investigate. I could face a federal investigation."
"But Alex's innocence is more important than all of this," he said, enunciating each word.
This was Leo Vance. A fool who would rather set himself on fire than fail to uphold justice. A madman I couldn't help but love.
Without the slightest hesitation, he immediately took action. He photocopied the sheet music and letters, converted the audio from the tapes into digital files. Then, he dialed the number of a senior investigative reporter at the New York Times.
I sat across from him, listening as he recounted his father's crimes to the person on the other end of the phone in a tone so calm it was cruel.
Every word seemed to be slowly cutting into himself.
"Yes, I am Richard Vance's son."
"I have all the evidence."
"Tomorrow morning, you'll receive an anonymous email. I have only one request: reveal the whole truth."
After hanging up, he collapsed into the chair, as if all strength had been drained from him.
I walked over and embraced him from behind. His body was as rigid as stone, but I could feel him trembling.
"You did the right thing," I whispered, pressing my face against his back.
"Right or wrong doesn't matter anymore, Jules," he closed his eyes, his voice filled with endless exhaustion. "I only know that I can finally... sleep well."
The next morning, the world exploded.
The New York Times headline revealed everything with shocking words.
"Legendary superstar Richard Vance's 'Ashes of Glory'—the lies and sins behind the glory."
The report listed all the evidence in detail: Alex's original music score "Lost Echoes," Richard Vance's cold letter, and the audio link to the original recording.
The entire internet was paralyzed. The idol once placed on a pedestal became, overnight, a villain who stole his friend's son's work and indirectly caused his death. The Vance family name became synonymous with disgrace.
Leo and I stayed in my small apartment, watching television news where experts and commentators conducted an overwhelming moral judgment on his father.
Leo said nothing, just watched quietly, as if observing a story unrelated to himself.
His phone was flooded with calls—from his mother, the family lawyer, various relatives and friends. He simply turned it off.
Just then, my phone rang. An unfamiliar number flashed on the screen.
I hesitantly answered. "Hello?"
A burst of urgent panting came from the other end of the phone, followed by Ryder Kang's familiar yet hoarse voice.
"Jules? Is that you? Leo... Is Leo with you?" His voice was trembling.
My heart sank suddenly. "He is."
"How... how is he doing?"
"Not good." That was all I could say.
There was silence on the other end for a moment, and I could even hear the sound of waves and wind.
"Tell him I'm at the beach in Malibu. The place we used to go." Ryder's voice carried a hint of choked emotion. "Tell him I'm waiting for him here."
I hung up the phone and looked at Leo.
"It was Ryder," I said. "He's at Malibu Beach."
Leo's body noticeably shuddered. That place was their secret base with Alex.
He stood up, grabbed his car keys, and walked toward the door without saying a word.
"I'll go with you," I immediately followed him.
We were driving, speeding along California Highway 1. Inside the car, there was only the roar of the engine and the howling wind. Leo gripped the steering wheel tightly, veins bulging on the back of his hands, his eyes fixed intently on the road ahead.
By the time we reached the beach, it was already dusk. The sun was sinking into the horizon, dyeing the sky and sea a tragically blood-red color.
Ryder was standing there, alone, facing the surging waves. His silhouette was stretched long, appearing lonely and fragile.
Leo got out of the car and walked toward him. I stayed in the car, watching from a distance. I knew that the moment to come did not belong to me.
Leo stopped a few steps away from Ryder.
Two once inseparable friends now confronted each other like strangers, separated by three years of hatred and misunderstanding.
The sea breeze tousled their hair.
Ryder slowly turned around. He looked at Leo, whose face, usually bearing a carefree smile, was now filled with pain, remorse, and disbelief.
He opened his mouth, as if wanting to say something, but ultimately nothing came out.
Then, he took one step toward Leo, then another.
He suddenly reached out and grabbed Leo in a tight embrace.
It wasn't a gentle hug, but one full of strength and desperation, almost like a collision. Ryder buried his face in Leo's shoulder, his entire body shaking violently.
I saw Leo's rigid body, in that instant, completely relax. He raised his hands and returned Ryder's embrace with equal force.
"I'm sorry..." Ryder's voice shattered in the wind, carrying the sound of tears suppressed for three years. "Leo... I'm sorry... I didn't know... I really didn't know..."
"The one who should apologize," Leo closed his eyes, his voice as hoarse as if scraped by sandpaper, "is me."
They embraced tightly amid the roaring waves, like two survivors of a shipwreck, desperately holding onto each other, confirming that both were still alive.
All the hatred, all the misunderstandings, all the pain, were scattered by the Pacific winds and washed clean by the cold seawater in that embrace that came three years too late.
I sat in the car, my face covered in tears.
The sun had completely sunk into the sea, and the night gently enveloped them.
After a long while, they finally separated. They didn't say anything more, just stood side by side at the seaside, looking at the dark horizon where the sea met the sky.
Just like many years before.
I saw Leo's hands, those hands that had trembled uncontrollably when discovering the truth, now hanging calmly at his sides, steady, no longer shaking.
Then, he turned around and walked toward me.
He opened the car door, knelt before me, and buried his face in my knees.
"Jules," his voice shattered in the night, "I have to go."
My heart, in that moment, stopped beating.
