Chapter 4 - The Vault
The hidden room was a marvel of paranoid engineering.
Thorne had spared no expense. It was twenty by twenty feet, lined with reinforced steel, devoid of windows. In the center sat a long, heavy oak table. But what drew the eye were the walls. They were covered in safety deposit boxes, filing cabinets, and a massive floor-to-ceiling dry-erase board that had been scrubbed clean.
"What is this place?" Valerie whispered. For the first time since I'd known her, she sounded uncertain. Her eyes darted around, calculating, evaluating. "Is this a panic room?"
"Something like that," I said, walking to the head of the oak table.
There, resting perfectly in the center, was the manila envelope Arthur had left me. Beside it was a thick, black leather binder I had printed from the flash drive.
"It looks like a bank vault," David muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Mom, seriously, who owned this place?"
"A man who collected things," I answered. "Information, mostly. He was a very wealthy, very powerful man. And when he died, he left behind a lot of loose ends."
Valerie’s eyes locked onto the black binder. The greed returned, washing away her temporary fear.
"Did he leave money down here?" she asked, stepping closer to the table. "Valuables? Margaret, if you found undeclared assets in the home after closing, you need to be very careful. There are tax implications. You should let me look at whatever that is."
She reached for the binder.
Before her fingers could brush the leather, I rested my hand on top of it.
"It's not money, Valerie," I said softly, looking directly into her eyes. "It's a ledger. A record of transactions."
"Transactions?"
May you like
"Yes. Real estate flips. Shell companies. Offshore accounts."
Valerie's hand froze in mid-air. The platinum rings on her fingers caught the harsh fluorescent light of the vault.
