Chapter 6
The third-floor design studio was vast, filled with drafting tables, rolls of blueprint paper, and towering shelves stacked with material samples. The air was cool and smelled faintly of fresh pine and acrylic fixative. In the center of the room sat the massive scale model of the Zenith Tower, a towering architectural marvel constructed of clear acrylic, brushed aluminum, and miniature LED lighting arrays.
Clara held a small tactical flashlight, its beam cutting sharply through the shadows as Arthur tested the lock on the studio’s double doors. Fortunately, Tamara had used a standard deadbolt that Arthur managed to pick with a thin tension wrench from his pocket in less than a minute.
"Keep watch by the hallway entrance," Arthur whispered, stepping into the studio with quiet precision. "If you hear anyone coming, flick your light twice."
Clara nodded, her back pressed against the wall just outside the studio doors. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Every creak of the old hardwood floors sounded like approaching footsteps. Inside the room, she heard the soft scrape of heavy materials moving across the table.
"Clara, come look at this," Arthur called out in a low, urgent voice.
Clara hurried inside. Arthur was kneeling beside the base of the Zenith Tower model. He had unscrewed the recessed panel beneath the building’s foundation, revealing a hidden compartment built directly into the heavy oak table. Inside rested a leather briefcase and a heavy, sealed manila envelope labeled in Eleanor’s handwriting: FOR THE AUTHORITIES.
"She planned for this," Clara breathed, kneeling beside Arthur. "She knew Tamara was trying to push her out of her own company."
"More than that," Arthur said, carefully sliding the manila envelope out of the compartment. He broke the red wax seal and pulled out a stack of financial audits, bank transfer slips, and corporate resolutions. "Tamara wasn't just managing investments. She was systematically embezzling funds through offshore shell companies, slowly bleeding Eleanor Vance Designs dry."
Arthur flipped through the pages, his eyes widening in disbelief. "And look at this signature... it’s forged. Tamara used power-of-attorney documents that Eleanor never authorized. She was setting up a hostile takeover to strip the company of its assets and sell the real estate portfolio to a foreign conglomerate."
Suddenly, a sharp click echoed from the far end of the hallway—the distinct sound of a door unlatching in the east wing.
"Someone’s coming," Clara whispered, grabbing Arthur’s arm.
"Grab the briefcase," Arthur ordered, standing up swiftly. "We need to get out of here before—"
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"Before what?"
The cold, sharp voice cut through the darkness of the studio doorway. Tamara stood there, draped in a dark silk robe, her expression a mask of absolute fury as she blocked their only exit.
