Chapter 7: The Vault
Chapter 7: The Vault
The lights flickered on automatically, illuminating a cavernous room built of solid concrete and steel.
It wasn't filled with cash or gold bars. It was filled with history.
Row upon row of climate-controlled display cases held artifacts that had been reported stolen, destroyed, or lost to time. Nazi-looted art from World War II. Missing artifacts from the Baghdad Museum. Religious relics stripped from South American temples.
“My god,” Vance muttered, his military composure slipping for a fraction of a second.
Grant looked around, genuinely bewildered. “I… I didn't know about this.”
“I know you didn't,” I said, walking down the central aisle. “You’re just a spoiled pawn, Grant. Your father never trusted you with the real business. This is the collateral. The world’s worst criminals store their stolen wealth here, and your father uses the museum above as a front to wash the money they pay him for the privilege.”
I stopped in front of a specific glass case at the very back of the vault.
Inside sat a simple, leather-bound ledger.
“But this,” I said, resting my hand on the glass. “This is the prize.”
Grant stepped closer, squinting at the worn book. “What is it?”
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“The physical blackmail ledger,” I explained. “Digital files can be deleted. Passwords can be changed. But this book contains the handwritten signatures, thumbprints, and DNA evidence of every corrupt politician, judge, and CEO who ever did business with the Holloways. It’s your father’s insurance policy.”
I turned to Grant. “And now, it’s mine.”
