Chapter 7: The Ten-Minute Window
The private study was a cavern of dark wood and leather, smelling sharply of Viktor’s expensive cologne and old bourbon. Clara stood before the massive wall of bookshelves, her fingers trembling slightly as she searched for the hidden seam Julian had described. According to the inside contact, the safe was concealed behind a first-edition volume of nineteenth-century legal codes.
She checked her watch again. 10:29 AM. Thirty seconds until the security grid went dark.
Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. Every tick of the antique grandfather clock in the corner sounded like a hammer blow. She counted down in her head—five, four, three, two, one.
Suddenly, the overhead smart-lighting flickered once and died, plunging the study into the dim, amber glow of emergency backup LEDs. Across the suite, the high-pitched hum of the security cameras ceased. The ten-minute window had officially begun.
Clara scanned the shelves frantically until her eyes landed on the embossed leather spine of the legal codes. She gripped the heavy book and pulled. With a satisfying mechanical click, the entire section of the bookshelf swung outward on hidden hinges, revealing a heavy digital safe embedded in the concrete wall.
A cold sweat broke out across her forehead. She hadn’t been given the numeric combination. Julian had said the contact believed the code was written down on a physical notepad kept inside Viktor’s mahogany desk drawer, hidden beneath a false bottom.
Clara spun around, rushing to the massive executive desk. She yanked open the top drawer, finding only standard office supplies and a stack of corporate stationary. Panic flared in her chest. She jammed her fingers along the interior wooden track, feeling blindly for the seam of the false bottom. Her fingernail caught on a tiny metal notch. She pulled upward with all her weight. The wooden panel snapped free with a sharp crack, revealing a small leather-bound notepad resting on a velvet lining.
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She grabbed the notepad, flipping the pages frantically under the dim amber light. There it was—a sequence of numbers scrawled in Viktor’s messy, aggressive handwriting.
She sprinted back to the open safe, her bare feet silent against the rug. Punching in the digits with trembling fingers, she held her breath as the digital pad flashed red, then beeped twice, and finally turned a brilliant, solid green. The heavy steel door swung open, revealing stacks of legal documents, cash bundles, and a leather folder labeled with her family’s surname.
