Disclaimer: I do not own National Treasure
A/N: Yeah, the movies came out a while back, but after reading things in hopes of a third movie, my imagination took off. Hope you enjoy. Feel free to leave a comment if you'd like :)
Elizabeth Duval rubbed her eyes wearily and fought to read the words shining brightly through her laptop. She had stayed up all night googling some of the myths from the newest book she bought only a few days earlier. Her grandmother would scoff every time she mentioned her passion for History, claiming she had no idea where she'd got it from.
Her grandmother, Genevieve Duval had traveled here to America from France in her mid thirties, a widowed mother. She held a strong French front, but was more Americanized than she let on. Although grateful her grandmother had taken her under her wing when her mother Emeline passed, Elizabeth and her never had much in common. Genevieve always wanted to bring Lizzie up into a very strict, formal way of values and beliefs, whereas Lizzie was far more interested in exploring the history of America and being carefree.
More than once, Elizabeth had asked her grandmother the whereabouts of her father but she was simply ignored. For some reason, her mother never left her anything to indicate his existence at all either.
It wasn't until this night that she would find out who he was.
I can't read anymore, she groaned thinking. "My eyes are going to fall out." She said out loud to herself, glancing at the time on the computer. 2:43AM.
She sighed and leaned back in her desk chair, stretching her muscles and summarizing what she'd been reading in her head quickly. She then stood up and walked to her bed. Elizabeth was not tired enough to go to sleep, but not able to do anything else entertaining. Begrudgingly, she decided she might as well go to bed. I have no life, she grimaced making her way to the bathroom. She stopped at the sight of her mother's old room door cracked open.
What the..? Grandmother must have went in earlier and forgotten to lock it. There was only one important rule in her grandmother's house and that was to NEVER go in her mother's old room. She had once, when she was six or so but received three hard slaps to the hand with a wooden spoon. After that, the door remained locked and she hadn't attempted anymore. However, her curiosity won over fear of getting caught and she opened the door wider, freezing when it creaked. No noise was made after, so she entered the room.
Elizabeth smiled slightly at the overload of floral prints. Rose bedspread, lily wallpaper, and a bunch of fake flowers decorating certain furniture and walls. She walked over to the vanity and looked at her reflection, wondering how many times her mom had done the same. She glanced down and saw an old torn photo of what she knew to be her mother sitting in a poise manner on a white bench in a garden. Elizabeth frowned. Her grandmother had told her she kept no pictures of her, but obviously there was one here. Gently she put the photo down and observed her features while glancing every now and then to the photo.
She had her mother's blonde hair and nose, her bone structure and somewhat aristocratic features. Sharp and smooth. She had her grandmother's family to thank for that. However, she noticed her mother's eyes were a dark brown, just like her grandmother's. Her's were a bright blue. She must have had her father's eyes, she thought with a smile. Interested in more, Elizabeth carefully looked through the drawers but found nothing much but jewelry and old makeup. Sweeping the room with her eyes, she grinned when they fell upon the dresser. A lot of clothes that screamed to be burned, (who knew her mother would have such awful taste!) 80's, she giggled. Opening the last drawer on the bottom, Elizabeth's heart began to race when under a pile of clothes, she found a tin box.
Pursing her lips together, she carefully took it out and glanced back at the door nervously before getting back to the object. Apparently her mother didn't want anyone seeing this as it was hidden under bras and underwear, but Lizzie's sense of interest wasn't about to be stopped. She took the lid off and froze. There were folded papers, some sealed with a red kiss mark. Gingerly, she unfolded one on top and began to read,
January 3, 1989
I've done more than enough research, but it's pointless trying to find someone who's last name we're not even given! There are far too many Charlotte's to track down! Please, can't you just forget about the treasure for now and just come take me away from here? I can't stand my mother right now. She keeps going on and on about what a fool you are and what a mockery your family's name is. You know I don't believe that but I will literally die if I don't get away from her! There's also something important I need to tell you. Something big concerning me, you and an extra someone. Please come get me soon. I miss you.
Ben? Elizabeth ran her eyes over the letter once more and frowned. Why was it here? Why was it not with Ben?Who was Charlotte? Was this Ben her father? Her mother hated her grandmother?
Questions ran through her head a mile a second, but she anxiously picked up another letter, and another, and another, until she reached the last paper in the bottom of the pile. The light from the window signified daylight was approaching so she quickly unfolded it. There it was; her birth certificate. She'd never actually seen it before, her grandmother had always handled those things, but now she read the name occupying the space in which father's were meant to be written.
Her hands crinkled the paper at her grasp and she whispered in astonishment, "Benjamin Franklin Gates. Holy shit."
So, should there be more?