Chapter 16 - The Chicago Vault
The Lakeview neighborhood of Chicago was exactly as Clare remembered it—gorgeous, sterile, and suffocating.
Clare and Julian stood across the street from the Vance family’s private estate, a massive graystone mansion hidden behind high iron gates. The scent of lavender disinfectant seemed to linger in the cold wind that swept off Lake Michigan, making Clare’s stomach turn.
"According to my contacts at the bank," Julian said, looking at his tablet, "Arthur has been spending his nights at his downtown office, but he still keeps his primary server and old personal diaries in the study of this house. The security system is an older Honeywell model. I can loop the camera feed for twenty minutes, but we have to be quick."
"I know the layout," Clare said, her hood pulled low. "I lived in that prison for six years. I know every creaking floorboard."
With Julian monitoring the feed from a parked rental car, Clare slipped through the iron gate's side latch, using a key she had kept hidden in her old jewelry box for two years. She moved like a shadow across the manicured lawn, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
She reached the side French doors of the study. With a practiced twist of her wrist, she unlocked the door and stepped inside.
The study was dark, smelling of expensive leather, tobacco, and that oppressive lavender scent. On the desk sat Arthur’s personal laptop.
Clare didn't try to turn it on; she knew Arthur would have biometric locks. Instead, she walked to the built-in bookshelves, reached behind a leather-bound set of encyclopedias, and pressed a hidden button.
A small wall safe swung open with a soft hiss.
Inside lay several folders of documents, a backup hard drive, and a small black velvet box. Clare grabbed the folders and the hard drive, ignoring the jewelry. She was about to close the safe when she saw a small, crumpled piece of paper at the bottom.
She picked it up and smoothed it out. It was a drawing Noah had made when he was five—a picture of a big green tree with two small figures underneath. Across the top, Noah had written: “Mommy and me.”
Arthur had kept it. Not out of love, but as a trophy, a reminder of the asset he had lost.
A cold, pure rage washed over Clare, burning away the last traces of her fear. She stuffed the drawing and the files into her bag, closed the safe, and turned to leave.
Suddenly, the overhead lights snapped on.
May you like
Standing in the doorway, his coat wet from the Chicago sleet, was Arthur Vance. His handsome face was twisted into a smirk of pure, triumphant malice.
"I knew you'd come back, Clare," Arthur said, stepping into the room. "You always were predictable. Especially when you're desperate."
