Chapter 14: The Blackwood Vault
Chapter 14: The Blackwood Vault
The private security firm Ethan hired sent two former military contractors named Vince and Marcus. They arrived at 5:00 a.m., armed, professional, and entirely silent. Vince stayed at the house with Ethan and Noah, transforming our living room into a command center. Marcus sat in the passenger seat of my SUV as we drove through the dense fog toward Blackwood.
The town was exactly what I expected: gray buildings, gravel lots, and an overwhelming sense of economic decay. The Blackwood Credit Union was a small, brick building with barred windows and a flickering neon sign.
Marcus checked his mirror before opening his door. "I’ll stay ten feet behind you, Mrs. Bennett. If anyone approaches, you step behind me immediately. Do not talk to anyone."
I walked inside. The lobby was empty except for an elderly teller behind bulletproof glass. I approached the counter and pulled out my forensic accounting credentials, along with the state-issued power of attorney document I had never officially dissolved after Diane’s death.
"I need access to the estate box for Diane Vance," I said, keeping my voice low.
The teller looked at the paperwork, her brow furrowing. "Oh, yes. The state investigators called about this yesterday. But someone else already came by this morning with the secondary key."
My heart stopped. "What do you mean, someone else?"
"A young woman," the teller said, looking confused. "She had a notarized letter from the estate executor and the original key. She went back into the vault about twenty minutes ago."
I didn't wait for Marcus. I pushed through the security gate before the teller could hit the lock switch.
The safety deposit vault was in the basement, down a narrow flight of concrete steps that felt suffocatingly small. The air was cold, smelling of rust and damp paper. As my boots hit the bottom step, I saw the heavy steel door of the vault was standing ajar.
Inside, standing before an open wall of metal boxes, was Vanessa.
She wasn't wearing an orange jumpsuit anymore. She wore a dark, heavy raincoat, her hair cut short and jagged. She was holding a thick leather pouch packed with neat stacks of old hundred-dollar bills and a handful of yellowed documents.
May you like
When she heard my footsteps, she didn't jump. She didn't look surprised. She slowly turned her head, a cold, empty smile spreading across her thin lips.
"Hi, Claire," she whispered, her voice echoing off the safety boxes. "I knew you couldn't resist an audit."
