Chapter 9 - The Key to the Vault
The mention of the Federal Reserve safety deposit box sent a shiver straight down Clara’s spine. She knew that vault; Arthur had maintained a private reserve there for decades, accessible only by a biometric dual-key system that required both a Vance family member and an estate-approved legal representative.
"A dual-key box," Clara said, her eyes darting toward Henderson, who suddenly looked less relaxed than before. "Arthur didn't just store documents there. He stored the original records of his first family."
Henderson cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses once more. "That is confidential estate business, Clara. It has no bearing on the immediate custody of the infant."
"It has everything to do with it," Clara shot back, stepping away from the bed to confront the lawyer directly. "If Arthur created this child using his own genetic material, he was repeating a cycle he started thirty years ago before Julian was even born."
Chloe shifted on the bed, her face pale but resolute. "When Julian brought me to the estate six months ago, he told me his father was a genius who wanted to secure his legacy. He didn't tell me that his father's previous heirs had all vanished under mysterious medical circumstances."
The hospital administrator blinked in confusion, looking between Clara and the lawyer. "What are you talking about? What vanished heirs?"
"Ask him," Clara pointed a trembling finger at Henderson. "Ask Mr. Henderson how many children Arthur fathered through unauthorized experimental protocols before Julian was born."
Henderson’s jaw tightened, the polished corporate facade finally beginning to crack under the pressure. "That information is sealed by court order, Ms. Sterling. You have no legal right to interrogate me."
"I have every right," Clara said, her voice rising with righteous fury. "I am the primary surviving trustee of an estate built on stolen lives."
Before Henderson could respond, the newborn in Chloe’s arms let out a sharp, sudden cry, breaking the tense silence of the room.
Sarah immediately stepped forward, gently placing a hand on Chloe’s shoulder. "Let me check her vitals, Chloe. The stress in this room is affecting the baby."
As Sarah leaned over the bassinet, her fingers brushed against the second white envelope—the one Henderson had discarded on the corner of the rolling tray. Sticking out from beneath the flap was a small, torn photograph that had fallen unnoticed from the documents.
Clara caught sight of the image and froze, her breath catching in her throat.
May you like
It was a photograph of a young woman who looked hauntingly like Clara herself, holding a newborn infant outside the very same hospital, dated thirty-five years ago.
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