Chapter 7 - The Keeper of Room 404
The interior of the St. Jude Archives smelled of ancient parchment, dried ink, and cold stone. Dust floated in dense clouds through the beam of Dante's tactical flashlight as he navigated the long, cavernous hallways lined with floor-to-ceiling wooden bookshelves stretching up into the shadows.
Every footstep echoed off the vaulted ceiling like a gunshot.
Dante moved with slow, practiced precision, his weapon drawn, his eyes constantly scanning the dark aisles between the stacks.
He found the iron stairwell at the far end of the central hall, climbing up past the second and third floors until he reached a narrow, wooden door on the top level marked 404.
The door was slightly ajar. A thin strip of warm, golden light spilled across the dusty floorboards outside.
Dante approached the door sideways, his back pressed against the stone wall. He used his foot to gently nudge the heavy wood panel open.
"I wouldn't point that weapon in here, Dante," a soft, raspy voice spoke from inside the room.
Dante froze, then slowly stepped into the doorway, keeping his sidearm leveled at the center of the room.
Sitting in a high-backed leather armchair near a crackling stone fireplace was an elderly man with thick silver hair, wearing a tailored navy wool suit. On the table beside him sat a silver tea set and a small glass of amber whiskey.
It was Julian Vance—Thomas Vance's seventy-year-old father, and the founder of the original Vance Security firm.
"Julian?" Dante said, his voice laced with shock. "What are you doing here?"
"Saving what's left of my family's honor," the old man said weary, gesturing with a thin hand toward the empty armchair across from him. "Lower your weapon, son. If I wanted you dead, Thomas's men would have shot you in your study an hour ago."
Dante didn't lower the gun. "Where is my wife, Julian?"
Julian took a slow sip of his whiskey, setting the crystal glass down on the table with a faint click. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small leather case, and laid it beside the tea set.
"Three years ago, my son turned our family business into a private enforcement agency for corrupt politicians and corporate thieves," Julian said, his voice filled with a profound, bitter sorrow. "He partnered with your stepbrother, Adrian, to drain Moretti Enterprise assets."
"I know about the offshore accounts," Dante said coldly.
"Do you know why Clara was targeted?" Julian asked, looking up into Dante's eyes. "It wasn't just because she found the missing funds. It was because she found out that Thomas was using your family's shipping lanes to move illegal contraband across the border."
Dante felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. "The container ships out of Oakland."
"Precisely," Julian nodded. "When Thomas's men locked Clara in that cabin sub-vault, my private team was tracking them. I couldn't stop them from taking her without starting a war with my own son... but the moment Thomas left that mountain, my men cut the hatch and pulled Clara out."
Dante took two steps forward, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Is she alive, Julian? Tell me the truth!"
Julian stood up slowly, leaning on a heavy brass cane. He walked over to a heavy velvet curtain hanging along the far wall of the study, pulling it back to reveal a dark, reinforced security glass window looking down into a small, brightly lit room below.
Dante stepped up to the glass, leaning his forehead against the cold pane.
May you like
Down inside the room sat a woman in a simple white linen sweater, her long dark hair falling softly over her shoulders as she sat at an upright piano, her thin fingers moving across the keys in a silent, delicate rhythm.
It was Clara.
