He Hit Me at a Private Auction—Then I Sealed the Entire Museum “Father…” I pressed the phone to my ear. “Seal the building.” My voice was barely above a whisper.

Chapter 6: The Vault

"Bring him," Mara instructed her security team.

The guards hauled Grant to his feet and dragged him toward the back of the museum, away from the weeping politicians and the glaring cameras. They approached a massive, circular steel door built into the bedrock of the building.

The Climate Vault.

"Open it," Mara ordered.

The heavy door hissed, unsealing with a rush of freezing, hyper-oxygenated air. Inside, the room was dimly lit, housing crates of undocumented, black-market antiquities—items the Holloways had planned to launder through the museum before Mara bought the foundation out from under them.

"Throw him in."

The guards tossed Grant into the freezing room. He scrambled on the frost-covered floor, shivering instantly in his thin tuxedo.

"Mara, please!" he begged, his teeth chattering. "It's freezing in here! You can't leave me here!"

"This vault is kept at exactly thirty-eight degrees Fahrenheit to preserve ancient textiles," Mara said, standing in the doorway. "It's uncomfortable, but it won't kill you. You're going to sit in here with the very artifacts your family tried to steal."

She looked at him, her expression devoid of pity.

"You have two choices, Grant. You can sit in the dark and freeze until the FBI breaches the building tomorrow. Or, you can tell me exactly where your father keeps the physical ledger for his blackmail network."

Grant wrapped his arms around himself. "I can't. He'll kill me."