Chapter 12 - The Hand on the Shoulder
Maya flinched, raising her arms defensively as the bright beam of a police flashlight blinded her temporarily.
"Maya! What on earth are you doing out here alone?" Detective Miller demanded, lowering his flashlight as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the shed. He scanned the cluttered space, his gaze finally resting on the open trapdoor in the dirt floor. "Who are you talking to?"
"Sarah Jenkins," Maya breathed, pointing a trembling finger down into the black abyss. "She was right here. She went down that ladder less than ten seconds ago with the charred ledger!"
Detective Miller unclipped his radio, speaking into it rapidly as he called for backup and a perimeter lockdown around the toolshed. He drew his service weapon, clicked on his weapon-mounted flashlight, and cautiously approached the edge of the trapdoor.
"Stay back, Maya," Detective Miller ordered, kneeling down to peer into the subterranean tunnel. He whistled softly. "This isn't just an old storm cellar. It’s an entire underground network connecting the boathouse to the main property."
Marcus and David suddenly appeared in the doorway of the shed, panting heavily. Marcus looked around the dusty, claustrophobic space in sheer confusion, while David stared down at the open trapdoor with an expression of profound dread.
"I remember this tunnel," David whispered, stepping closer and shaking his head. "Father built it forty years ago. He said it was a fallout shelter, but he never let anyone down here. Not even Mom."
Arthur Vance walked into the shed a moment later, his posture as rigid as ever despite the muddy ground ruining his expensive shoes. He peered down into the dark hole, a bitter scowl twisting his lined face.
"Sarah shouldn't even know this place exists," Arthur muttered angrily. "I sealed the entrance back when we sold the estate."
"She didn't find it by accident," Maya said, stepping past Detective Miller and looking directly at Arthur. "Someone gave her the blueprints. Someone who wanted those offshore accounts emptied and your little empire burned to the ground."
Detective Miller looked up from the ladder. "Whoever is down there has a head start, but this tunnel only has two exits: the boathouse, which is currently on fire, and the main basement of your family home."
"Then let's go," Marcus urged, stepping toward the ladder. "If Sarah is heading back to the house, Elena and Lily are still there alone."
The blood drained from David's face. "Elena," he choked out, turning and sprinting out of the shed without waiting for another word.
Detective Miller didn't try to stop them. He tossed a heavy tactical flashlight to Maya, gestured for Marcus and Arthur to follow, and descended into the dark, damp tunnel first.
The subterranean corridor was narrow, its concrete walls weeping with moisture and smelling heavily of damp earth and rust. As they hurried single file through the oppressive darkness, the beam of Maya's flashlight swept across the damp walls, catching something glinting on a low wooden beam.
It was a small, gold pendant necklace dangling from a rusted nail—a piece of jewelry Maya had seen resting against Elena’s green sweater earlier that very afternoon.
May you like
Maya reached out, plucked the pendant from the nail, and stopped dead in her tracks.
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