Chapter 8 - The Summer of 2004
The digital question glowed with an eerie blue light against the dark wood-paneled wall: “Where did Richard hide the ledger from the summer of 2004?”
Chloe stared at the screen, her heart pounding in her ears.
She was only ten years old that summer. She remembered the stifling heat, the endless days spent riding horses at her cousin’s farm in Oregon, and the strange, tense atmosphere when she finally returned home in late August.
Her parents had barely spoken to each other for months, and her mother had spent weeks burning documents in the outdoor stone fireplace.
"I don't know," Chloe whispered, shaking her head.
"I was at summer camp for three months that year. I wasn't even here."
Victoria leaned against the corridor wall, her breathing shallow and ragged.
"Think, you little fool," Victoria spat, her voice laced with venom despite her desperate situation.
"Your father bought this entire estate with the money from that specific transaction. If you don't guess right, the feds take the house, the accounts, and every single dime your mother left you. We will all be penniless overnight."
Officer Davies raised his radio, speaking in a low, urgent tone.
"Dispatch, this is unit four. We have an unverified digital lockout in the sub-level of the Vance estate. Requesting a bomb and tech squad on site just in case."
“Negative, unit four,” crackled the radio dispatcher’s voice.
“All available units are tied up at the precinct processing the primary suspect. You’re on your own out there for the next thirty minutes.”
The radio went silent.
The digital screen on the wall chimed softly as the timer dropped past the four-minute mark: 03:59... 03:58...
"Summer of 2004," Chloe muttered to herself, pacing back and forth across the narrow hallway.
"What happened that summer? Mom never talked about it. Dad acted like it was just another fiscal quarter."
She closed her eyes, trying to visualize the house as it had looked back then. The renovations, the new wing, the library remodeling.
Her mother had insisted on installing custom floorboards imported from France. Why? Because they needed to cover something up.
"The library," Chloe gasped, her eyes snapping open.
"The old walnut floorboards in the west library! Dad ripped them up and replaced them in July of 2004!"
She didn't wait for Davies or Victoria. She turned on her heel and sprinted down the hallway toward the grand foyer, her high heels clicking frantically against the marble.
She raced past the glass staircase and threw open the heavy double doors leading into the west wing library.
The room was vast, dark, and smelling faintly of old leather and dust. The moonlight streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the rows of mahogany bookshelves and the large Persian rug spread across the center of the room.
Chloe dropped to her knees beside the edge of the rug, tearing it back to reveal the polished dark walnut flooring.
She ran her hands along the seams of the wood until her fingers caught a loose brass ring set flush into the center plank.
With a cry of effort, she pulled upward. The heavy wooden board lifted with a loud pop, revealing a dark, hidden compartment beneath the floorboards.
May you like
Reaching inside into the dusty recess, her fingers brushed against a cold, leather-bound ledger and a heavy steel key labeled with a single embossed number: 2004.
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