Chapter 11 - The Key to the Safe
Clara stared down at the small silver key resting in her palm, its surface marred by a dark, tacky streak of dried blood.
"Where did you get this?" Clara asked, her voice barely a whisper above the screaming klaxon outside.
"From the real Marcus Thorne," Thomas said grimly, scanning the hallway once more before grabbing Clara by the forearm. "He’s dead, Clara. Someone found him in his hotel room twenty minutes before you walked into that parking lot. And based on the security footage, the person who locked that room from the inside was your husband, David."
Clara stumbled backward, her knees hitting the edge of the metal desk as the room seemed to spin violently around her.
"No," she choked out, shaking her head in denial. "David isn't a killer. He's an accountant. He handles spreadsheets, not—not murders!"
"People change when there are fifty million dollars in untraceable bearer bonds on the line," Thomas said, pulling her toward the doorway where Leo lay unconscious on the floor. "We have to move. The tactical response team is clearing the lower level right now, and if they find you standing over an unconscious federal agent with a bloody key, you'll never see a courtroom."
"We can't just leave Leo here," Clara protested, looking down at the young agent’s pale face.
"He's breathing; the nitrogen dart was non-lethal," Thomas insisted, hauling Clara forward into the dim red corridor. "Now move!"
They sprinted down the service corridor, avoiding the main lobby where the bright lights of local news vans flickered through the reinforced glass doors.
Every instinct in Clara's body screamed that she should turn herself in, that running would only cement her guilt in the eyes of Agent Vance and the entire federal apparatus.
Yet as they slipped through a side exit into the damp, chilly evening air, Clara realized her brother was right—the system had already condemned her before she even knew a crime had been committed.
They reached Thomas’s beat-up sedan parked in the shadows of a neighboring alleyway, and within seconds, the engine roared to life as they sped away from the facility into the labyrinth of suburban streets.
"Where are we going?" Clara asked, wiping a tear from her cheek as she stared out the passenger window at the passing neon signs.
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"To the only place David hid his real assets," Thomas replied, keeping his eyes fixed on the dark road ahead. "Your old family cabin by the lake."
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