Tell Me The Truth

Prolog

Mystic Falls - Prolog

The driveway to Uncle Joe's mansion hadn't changed at all, the trees lining the path had already lost their leaves, but I still felt like I was immersed in another world. I could understand that he liked living here, so he could pursue his favorite hobby, reconstruct historical events.
Little did I know that this visit would change my life forever when I knocked on the wood to inform my uncle of my presence.
To my astonishment, the door moved to reveal the view of the entrance hall, it was not normal for my uncle to leave the door open. I stepped into the entrance hall and the unnatural silence welcomed me like a blanket, "Uncle Joe?" I called for my uncle, but no answer came, he was often lost in his papers and would not even hear a bomb going off right next to him.
Following the corridor, I entered the library and could not believe my eyes, my uncle was lying on the floor, his throat cut, his papers were scattered as if someone had been looking for something, all this I registered while calling the police.

It felt like a bad dream, my uncle was dead. Murdered and I sat here, in the kitchen, being questioned by Sheriff Forbes, questions I couldn't answer.
"Marlin, when was the last time you saw your uncle?" she asked me as I stared into my coffee, why did she want to know all this? I had already told her everything.
"The last time I saw my uncle was exactly a year ago, which I have already said," I replied, still trying to comprehend that my uncle was no longer alive.
I had seen him, lifeless with his throat cut, and yet it was so surreal, it wasn't real, it couldn't be real.
The rest of the day and the weeks that followed were unclear, and in retrospect I couldn't even tell you what I had done in the weeks leading up to the will.
Where I had been appointed sole heir.
I still couldn't understand why someone had murdered my uncle. At that time, I had no idea that I would soon find an answer.

6 months later

The letter was still on the kitchen table where I had put it weeks ago, the notary had given it to me after I had learned that my uncle had bequeathed me his house, just everything. I still couldn't believe it; he had just been torn out of life. "Why did you bequeath everything to me, Uncle Joe?" I asked the air, the house, which was much too big for me, so much I didn't know, so much I still had to settle.
Before I could think further about my uncle's reasons, there was a knock on the door. I went to the door and opened it. The visitor seemed astonished to see me, judging by his astonished countenance. "Is Jonathan van der Well present?" the man I didn't know asked me, "Unfortunately not, he was murdered 6 months ago" I answered his question and asked my own directly. "Who do I have the pleasure of?".
"Excuse me, my name is Elijah Mikaelson, my condolences for the loss of your..." he offered his condolences and I added "niece".
I had no idea that the letter, which I had not yet opened, was the reason for this man's visit.