Chapter 8 - The Voice in the Dark
The darkness inside the vault was suffocating. The only illumination came from the eerie green glow of the laptop screen, casting long, distorted shadows against the rows of steel filing cabinets.
"Everyone stay calm, keep your tactical lights low," Agent Vance ordered, his voice steady despite the sudden turn of events. He flicked on the weapon-mounted flashlight on his rifle, sweeping the beam across the concrete room.
Nathanael stood near the heavy steel door, his hands balled into tight fists. "Can we override the locking mechanism from the inside? Is there an emergency release?"
"Vaults of this grade are built to withstand heavy explosives and high-end drilling," Agent Vance replied, walking over to inspect the thick electronic keypad beside the door. "The external control panel was severed when the hatch closed. We're relying on manual override pins, which take time to access."
"We don't have time," Nathanael said sharply, his mind racing back to Lily. If the entire sequence at the cathedral had been an elaborate ruse, the real threat had never left the property. "Whoever locked us in is currently upstairs with my niece."
As if responding to his words, the laptop on the central steel table chimed softly. A new window popped open on the screen, replacing the delayed video feed with a live text chat interface. A blinking cursor flashed against the dark background, waiting for input.
Agent Vance approached the table cautiously, his rifle raised. He tapped the spacebar on the keyboard. A line of text began to type itself automatically across the screen, character by character, at a slow, deliberate pace.
MR. CROSS. DID YOU REALLY THINK IT WOULD BE THAT EASY TO WALK AWAY?
Nathanael stepped forward, pushing past the agents to stand directly in front of the monitor. He placed his hands on the edge of the steel table and began typing his response with furious speed.
WHO IS THIS? WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH LILY?
The cursor blinked for a few seconds before the reply appeared on the screen.
LILY IS JUST INSURANCE, NATHANAEL. YOU DESTROYED MY FAMILY TEN YEARS AGO WHEN YOU TOOK OVER THE VANCE SHIPPING EMPIRE. NOW, I AM TAKING EVERYTHING YOU LOVE, STARTING WITH YOUR REPUTATION AND ENDING WITH YOUR LIFE.
Martha’s voice echoed in Nathanael’s memory: He's dead. We buried him years ago.
"It's Marcus Vance," Nathanael whispered, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. "Clara and Julian’s older brother. The media reported he died in a cargo ship explosion off the coast of Maine five years ago."
"Cargo ship explosions are very convenient ways to fake a death when you have millions in offshore accounts," Agent Vance noted, pulling a small diagnostic tool from his tactical vest and plugging it directly into the side of the laptop. "He's routing the signal through a satellite relay. We can trace his IP address, but it will take at least ten minutes to bypass his firewall."
"Ten minutes is too long," Nathanael said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, cold calm. He looked around the vault, his eyes scanning the shelves of stolen documents, financial ledgers, and legal files.
Among the stacks of paper, a thick leather-bound journal caught his eye. It was stamped with the Cross Industries logo, but the pages were filled with Eleanor's frantic handwriting—and tucked inside the back cover was a set of old-fashioned mechanical blueprints labeled Original Estate Infrastructure - 1974.
Nathanael grabbed the binder, flipping the fragile yellowed pages under the beam of a tactical flashlight until his finger stopped on a handwritten schematic near the back.
"Agent Vance," Nathanael said, pointing a trembling finger at the diagram. "There's no emergency release on the door, but according to these original architectural plans, the vault was built as an old bomb shelter during the Cold War. There's an air ventilation shaft that runs straight up through the master chimney."
Agent Vance leaned over the blueprint, his eyes narrowing as he evaluated the dimensions. "It's narrow. None of us in full tactical gear are going to fit through there."
May you like
Nathanael stood up straight, rolling up the sleeves of his black tuxedo shirt. "Then it's a good thing I'm not wearing tactical gear."
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