Chapter 12
The diner around Valeria faded into complete insignificance as her mother's voice filled her headphones from the laptop screen. In the video, Mrs. Vance reached up, gently adjusting her gold earrings before leaning slightly closer to the camera.
"You always hated the Westport estate, Valeria," her mother said softly on the screen, a faint, melancholic smile touching her lips. "You said the house had too many ghosts, too many closed doors. But you never understood why those doors were locked. Behind the mahogany doors in the east wing isn't money, Valeria. It’s the ledger of every person your father and Arthur destroyed over the last thirty years. And more importantly, it contains the proof that can clear your family name once and for all—if you are willing to pay the price."
Valeria leaned closer to the screen, her heart hammering against her ribs. "What price, Mom? What do you want me to do?" she whispered to the empty air, as if her mother could hear her through the screen.
"Arthur is coming for that archive," Mrs. Vance continued on the video. "The federal agents think they’ve won, but Arthur has a contingency plan. He has men inside the Department of Justice. Julian was sent to protect you, but he cannot fight an entire system alone. To unlock the true archive beneath the Westport house, you need the physical key. Not the brass one I threw away tonight, but the original biometric seal hidden in the foundation."
The video flickered and cut to black abruptly.
Valeria sat frozen in the diner booth, the glow of the screen reflecting in her wide, terrified eyes. Her mind raced. If Arthur had men inside the DOJ, then Julian was in grave danger. And her mother, currently sitting in a federal holding cell, was exposed to retaliation from Arthur’s operatives inside the system.
She slammed the laptop shut, grabbed her cream handbag, and slid out of the booth. The digital clock on the diner wall read 3:15 AM. The city was dark, cold, and entirely indifferent to her plight. She didn't care about the risk anymore. She couldn't sit back and watch everyone she ever knew destroy each other while she played the helpless victim.
She stepped out onto the sidewalk, the crisp night air stinging her face. She pulled out her phone and dialed the only number she had memorized—Julian’s direct line.
The phone rang once, twice, three times, playing a harsh, hollow tone before clicking over to voicemail.
"Julian, pick up," Valeria spoke into the phone, her voice shaking with adrenaline. "I know about the biometric seal at the Westport house. Arthur is planning something, and you’re walking right into a trap. Call me back!"
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She hung up and hailed another cab, giving the driver the destination she swore she would never return to: the Westport estate.
As the car sped out of Manhattan toward the quiet, affluent suburbs, Valeria stared out the window at the dark, sprawling mansions lining the road, unaware that a black sedan was tailing them closely behind.
