Chapter 5
The hallway felt exceptionally narrow, the air growing colder the further Mark walked away from the living room. The recessed lights flickered overhead, casting long, distorted shadows against the beige wallpaper. He reached the master bedroom at the end of the hall, pushing the heavy wooden door open with a soft creak.
The room was neat, the king-sized bed perfectly made, but the walk-in closet door stood ajar. Mark walked briskly across the carpeted floor, his grey jacket brushing against the doorframe as he entered the small walk-in space.
Hidden behind a sliding panel of winter coats was the heavy steel door of the wall safe. The digital keypad was dark, but a faint blue light emanated from the USB port on its side. Mark knelt down, his heart pounding in his ears, and entered his six-digit master pin code.
The biometric scanner flashed a sharp, angry crimson. Access Denied.
“Damn it,” Mark muttered under his breath, pressing the buttons again with frantic speed. He realized instantly what had happened. Elena had overridden the master administrative privileges using her remote terminal before she even set foot in the apartment today.
He pulled the metal handle. The heavy door swung open effortlessly. It wasn't locked; it had been completely wiped clean from the inside.
The felt-lined shelves were entirely bare. The hard drives containing years of family financial records, property deeds, and medical documents were gone. In their place lay a single, neatly folded sheet of white paper with a string of numbers handwritten in black ink.
Mark picked up the paper, his hands shaking so violently he could barely read the numbers. It was a routing number for an offshore bank account in the Cayman Islands, accompanied by a single typed note: Checkmate.
Suddenly, a loud, metallic click echoed from down the hallway.
Mark froze. The distinct sound of the apartment’s front deadbolt sliding firmly into place reverberated through the hollow walls.
“No,” Mark gasped, dropping the paper as he scrambled backward out of the closet. He sprinted out of the master bedroom, his running shoes pounding against the hardwood hallway floor as he raced back toward the living room.
He rounded the corner into the bright, modern living area just in time to see the elevator doors sliding shut at the end of the public foyer.
Detective Vance stood in the center of the living room, her expression grim as she stared down at the floor. Clara was gone.
Mark skidded to a halt, grabbing the back of the grey sofa for balance as he stared frantically around the empty room.
“Where is she?” Mark screamed, his voice cracking with sheer terror. “Where is my wife?!”
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Detective Vance turned around slowly, holding up a small, bloodstained green ribbon that had been torn from Clara’s hair.
“Your sister-in-law didn't just leave,” Sarah said, her voice eerily calm as she tossed the ribbon onto the coffee table. “She walked out of here holding your wife at gunpoint, and the security guard downstairs was just found unconscious in the lobby.”
