Chapter 6 - Inside the Vault
Through my earbuds, I heard the faint *click* of the study door opening.
Chloe was breathing rapidly, each inhalation a shallow, focused gasp.
“Mom, I’m in,” she whispered directly into the microphone.
“Be careful, Chloe,” I murmured into my phone, though I knew she couldn't hear me. “Just get the papers and get out.”
Spencer’s study had always been off-limits. He had claimed his investment clients required strict non-disclosure agreements, installing a heavy keypad lock on the door two years ago. But Chloe had watched him punch the code dozens of times while bringing him coffee: 0-8-1-9—the date of his father’s death.
The audio feed transmitted the mechanical beep of the safe keypad hidden inside the bottom of the mahogany bookshelf.
*Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.*
A heavy latch clicked open.
The sound of folders sliding across metal. Paper rustling.
“Oh my god,” Chloe’s voice broke through the audio, thick with horror. “Mom… it’s all here.”
She began dictating what she was seeing, snapping rapid photos with her phone camera. The camera shutter sound clicked rhythmically.
“Policy number 884-J. A two-million-dollar accidental death rider with Guardian Mutual. Named beneficiary: Spencer Ward. Date of activation: three months ago. Clause 4B: *Pertaining to fatal maternal trauma during emergency cesarean delivery at an authorized affiliate facility.*”
My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. He hadn't just planned for complications; he had financially pre-ordered them.
“There’s a small velvet pouch in here,” Chloe whispered. The sound of plastic rattling. “Two amber pharmacy vials. No labels. Just handwritten letters: *M-I-S-O.*”
Misoprostol. The medication used to induce medical abortions.
He hadn't thrown out the remnants from her past pregnancies. He had kept them stored away like trophies of his calculated cruelty.
Suddenly, over the audio feed, the distant rushing sound of running water abruptly stopped.
The shower pipes fell dead silent.
My heart vaulted into my throat. “Chloe! He’s out of the shower! Run!” I screamed into the phone, even though the call was one-way.
Over the feed, Chloe gasped. She hastily shoved the files and vials into her leather tote bag. The safe door swung shut with a metallic *clang*.
Upstairs, a door opened.
Spencer’s voice echoed down the staircase, casual yet carrying an ominous weight.
“Chloe? Where are you, babe? Did you find that heating pad?”
Chloe didn’t answer. The sound of her swift footsteps moving toward the study door was clear.
Then came the sudden, sharp sound of wood meeting wood.
The study door flew open.
A terrifying silence descended over the line.
Five seconds. Ten seconds. Not a breath was drawn.
Then, Spencer spoke. His voice wasn’t warm. It wasn’t charming. It was cold, low, and completely devoid of humanity.
May you like
“What are you doing in my safe, Chloe?”
***
