Chapter 4 - The Underground Vault and A Traitor Revealed
Vivian let out a sharp, hysterical laugh, the sound grating like rusted metal. “Did she, Evelyn? Did she really?”
“Where is she?” I demanded, closing the distance between Vivian and me. My security guards tensed, ready to intercept, but I waved them off. “What did you do to my sister?”
Vivian backed up the marble steps, her silk robe fluttering like a broken wing. The arrogance had entirely melted away, replaced by the cornered panic of a rat.
“Conrad knew,” Vivian spat, gesturing wildly. “Conrad knew the Harrington fortune was built on a house of cards. He knew I would try to seize it when he died. So, he locked the real wealth away.”
“The real wealth?” Graham muttered, still on the ground, snow soaking through his trousers. “The company is everything.”
“The company is a front, you idiot!” Vivian screamed at her son. “Conrad liquidated the true Harrington assets—billions in untraceable gold, offshore accounts, sovereign tech patents. He placed it all into an underground, biometric trust. A vault.”
Marcus stepped up beside me, his eyes narrowing. “A biometric trust requires living DNA to unlock. A continuous pulse.”
“Not just any DNA,” Vivian sneered, her eyes locking onto mine with a manic glint. “Conrad was obsessed with genetics. With ‘superior’ bloodlines. He believed the Harringtons lacked resilience. But the Vales… he had observed your family. He had an affair with your mother, Evelyn. He knew about Celeste.”
My breath hitched. The labyrinth of lies was deeper, darker than I could have ever calculated.
“The vault requires two genetic keys to open,” Vivian continued, breathless now. “Direct lineage from Conrad Harrington, merged with direct lineage from the Vale bloodline. I spent years trying to find a way in. I needed a child born of both bloodlines to act as the key. I needed Celeste.”
“But she died,” I repeated, the word tasting like ash.
“She disappeared,” Vivian corrected, a sickening smile curling her lips. “I found her before Conrad died. I made sure she vanished from the public eye. I’ve kept her… safe. A silent partner in our little family endeavor. But her body was frail. She couldn’t carry a child to term. When Graham brought you home, a young, healthy Vale… it was divine providence. You were the perfect incubator for the perfect key.”
She pointed a trembling finger toward the SUV. “Those twins aren’t just babies, Evelyn. They are living keys. They are the only things on this earth that can open the Harrington Vault.”
Suddenly, the wail of police sirens echoed in the distance. The FBI was approaching to collect Graham.
Vivian’s head snapped toward the sound. She realized the surface world was lost to her. She had no money, no power, and soon, the authorities would be swarming the estate.
With surprising speed, Vivian turned and sprinted toward the grand double doors of the mansion.
“Stop her!” Marcus shouted.
Two operatives bolted up the stairs, but Vivian was already inside. She slammed the heavy oak doors shut. We heard the distinct clack of the steel deadbolts sliding into place.
“Breach the door!” I ordered.
As the operatives raised their battering rams, a deep, mechanical groan reverberated through the very foundation of the estate. The snow at our feet seemed to vibrate.
“What is that?” Nora gasped, backing away.
Graham looked up, his eyes wide with a new, distinct terror. “The wine cellar. There’s a subterranean tunnel. My father built it during the renovations. I thought it was just a bunker.”
The lights inside the mansion suddenly cut out, plunging the massive estate into absolute darkness. Seconds later, a dull, pulsing red emergency light flared from the grated basement windows at the east wing.
My phone vibrated violently in my hand. An unknown number.
I answered it, putting it on speaker.
“You think you’ve won, Evelyn?” Vivian’s voice echoed through the speaker, breathless and echoing in a cavernous space. “You took my company, but I have the vault. And I have the reserve.”
“Vivian, there is nowhere to run. The FBI is at the gates.”
“Let them come,” she hissed. “By the time they figure out how to breach the blast doors down here, I’ll have extracted what I need. I still have the source, Evelyn.”
A scuffling sound came through the line. A heavy thud. Then, a new voice spoke.
It was faint, raspy, and weak, as if the speaker hadn’t used their vocal cords in years. But beneath the static, there was an undeniable, ghostly familiarity.
“Evie…?” the voice whispered.
Tears instantly blurred my vision. “Celeste? Celeste, is that you? Hang on, I’m coming down there!”
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“Evie, listen to me,” Celeste gasped, her voice fraught with desperate urgency. “Don’t bring the babies down here. And whatever you do… little sister… don’t trust Marcus.”
The line went dead.
