Chapter 4: Inside the Vault of Secrets
The study smelled of old paper, leather, and stale scotch. Clara pushed the heavy door inward just enough to slip inside, pulling it shut behind her to block the sliver of light from the master bedroom. She flicked on the small brass desk lamp, casting a warm, localized glow over the polished mahogany surface. The room was meticulously organized, yet beneath the surface order lay a labyrinth of hidden guilt.
She scanned the bookshelves, running her fingers along the leather-bound volumes of financial reports and legal briefs. Nothing out of the ordinary. She checked the drawers of the large partner's desk—locked, locked, and locked. Frustration nipped at her patience, but she forced herself to breathe deeply, mimicking the calm she always projected to Lily. Julian was methodical, which meant his hiding spots would be logical, almost arrogant in their simplicity.
Her eyes landed on the heavy oil painting of Julian’s late grandfather that hung behind the desk. It was tilted slightly off-center. Clara stepped around the chair, reached up, and pushed the corner of the heavy canvas. The painting swung outward on a concealed spring hinge, revealing a small wall safe recessed into the plaster.
A digital keypad blinked lazily in the dark recess. Clara stared at the glowing blue numbers. A combination. She had no idea what numbers Julian would use. Birthdays? Anniversary? No, Julian was too paranoid to use personal dates that anyone could research. She thought about the foundation gala downstairs, the charity work that served as a massive tax shelter and a front for something far more lucrative and insidious.
She pressed her fingertips against the plastic buttons, hesitating. What if the alarm tripped? What if Julian was already climbing the stairs? The thought of Lily sleeping just through the adjoining door gave her a surge of reckless courage. She punched in the date of the incorporation of Vance Logistics—the shipping company Julian had mysteriously acquired right before they met.
The keypad beeped sharply, and the small green light flashed. Denied.
She tried again, her mind racing back to the photograph fragment she had seen on the floor downstairs. The date stamped on the corner of the legal document. She entered the four digits.
May you like
Click.
The heavy steel door of the safe swung open on oiled hinges.
