Chapter 3 - HE OPENED DADDY’S WALLEmma hid behind my arm.
“I told you.”
“You did.”
The hidden safe looked older than the mansion’s current security system.
Steel frame.
Mechanical wheel.
New electronic keypad fitted over the original lock.
I had never seen it listed in any property record.
Marcus photographed everything before touching the panel.
“The last access occurred at 1:13 this morning.”
“Whose code?”
“The system doesn’t identify users.”
“Can you open it?”
“Eventually.”
Emma tugged at my sleeve.
“Mr. Victor pressed four numbers.”
“Do you remember them?”
She nodded.
“Seven. One. Nine. Three.”
July 1933.
The month and year Whitmore Manufacturing was founded.
My father used the number for old private accounts.
Marcus entered it.
The light changed from red to green.
The lock released.
Before opening the door, Marcus scanned the frame and handle.
No obvious trap.
No alarm.
He pulled it open.
The interior was nearly empty.
A rectangular patch of dust showed where a large book or folder had rested.
Beside it lay a family photograph.
My father.
My mother.
My younger brother, who died as a child.
And me.
We stood outside the Whitmore factory twenty-eight years earlier.
Emma looked at it.
“That’s you?”
“Yes.”
“You looked funny.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
Marcus put on gloves and lifted the photograph.
A black mark had been drawn behind it.
A circle divided by three lines.
Below it was a number.
W-4917.
“What does it mean?” Emma asked.
“I don’t know.”
A small metal object lay in the safe’s corner.
Marcus picked it up with tweezers.
Part of a cuff link.
Black stone set in silver.
I recognized it.
Victor wore an identical pair at my wife’s funeral.
Emma pointed.
“The other man broke it.”
“You saw that?”
“He reached into the safe first. Mr. Victor stopped him. They pushed each other.”
Victor had not simply opened the safe with an accomplice.
There had been a struggle.
“What happened next?”
“The angry man took the book.”
“Did Victor try to stop him?”
Emma nodded.
“He said, ‘That belongs to the workers.’”
Marcus and I exchanged a look.
Victor might have betrayed my trust.
But the man beside him had taken something Victor wanted protected.
My phone vibrated.
Victor Grant’s name appeared on the screen.
Emma gripped my hand.
I answered.
May you like
Victor spoke before I could.
“Adrian, whatever Emma told you, do not trust Marcus.”
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