Chapter 3 - The Engineer’s Trap
Night fell over Greenwich like a heavy wool blanket. Rain lashed against the high gothic windows of the Vance estate as Ethan and I slipped through the side entrance near the greenhouse. The house was eerie without its staff; Eleanor had dismissed the guards and servants for twenty-four hours under the guise of 'respecting family privacy.'
We moved quietly toward Julian’s ground-floor study, a dark, oak-paneled room that always smelled of expensive scotch and Cuban cigars.
"The safe is behind the bookcase," I whispered, reaching for the carved mahogany trim on the second shelf.
"Wait," Ethan said, pulling my arm back. He pointed a small LED flash-pen at the keyhole near the floorboards. "Motion-activated camera. Eleanor updated the security system last month after the break-in rumors."
"Can you bypass it?"
"I designed the home network five years ago," Ethan said with a faint, bitter smile. "She never updated the master access protocol."
He pulled a small handheld diagnostic tool from his jacket, plugged it into the smart-wall outlet, and typed a rapid sequence of commands. A small green light on the wall unit flickered and turned dark.
I stepped forward and swung the hidden panel open, revealing a wall-embedded digital safe with a biometric scanner and key code pad.
"Try his birth date," Ethan suggested.
"No," I replied, remembering Julian’s vanity. "He wouldn't use his own. He uses the date Vance Enterprises went public."
I keyed in 1-0-2-4-1-8.
The lock clicked open with a heavy pneumatic hiss. Inside were three velvet-lined drawers. The top drawer contained three passports under different names, all featuring Julian's photo. The middle drawer held stacks of banded hundred-dollar bills. But it was the bottom drawer that contained what we needed: a black leather-bound ledger labeled V-E Logistics / Private.
As I pulled the book out, the heavy oak doors of the study creaked open.
"I expected better of you, Clara," a cold, smooth voice spoke from the darkness.
May you like
The room lights flashed on, blinding us for a second. Eleanor stood in the doorway, supported by a heavy gold-headed cane. Behind her stood two large men in dark trench coats—the same security guards who had been guarding Julian’s ICU floor.
"Put the book back, my dear," Eleanor said, her voice steady and sharp as a razor. "Before you ruin what's left of this family."
