Chapter 8 - THE SECRETS OF THE FLOOR SAFE
We crashed hard onto the cold stone tiling of the terrace. The manila folder flew out of Julian’s grip, its contents scattering across the patio as the papers caught in the strong high-rise wind, swirling around us like autumn leaves.
Julian scrambled to grab the flash drive, but before his fingers could close around it, heavy footsteps echoed from inside the penthouse study.
"Security! Freeze!"
Three corporate security guards burst out onto the balcony, their flashlights cutting through the dark, their hands instantly pinning Julian face-down against the stone floor before he could move another inch.
"Got him," one of the guards panted, snapping heavy metal zip-ties around Julian’s wrists. "Are you alright, Miss Valle?"
I pushed myself up off the cold tile, brushing dirt and dust from my black dress. My heart was hammering against my ribs, but my hands were steady.
"I'm fine," I said, catching my breath. "Secure the flash drive. And gather every single piece of paper scattered across this terrace. Those are corporate records."
"Yes, ma'am," the guard nodded, signaling the others to start collecting the documents.
As Julian was hauled away, cursing and thrashing between two guards, I walked back inside the warm, quiet sanctuary of the penthouse study. The wind from the open balcony doors died down as I closed and latched them securely.
I walked over to the massive oak desk. Beneath it, built directly into the hardwood floor, sat the heavy iron plate of the floor safe Sebastian had told me about.
I knelt down on the Persian rug.
The combination was my birthday.
I spun the dial to the first number, then the second, and finally the third, aligning the tumblers with precise, deliberate clicks.
Clack.
May you like
The heavy iron door of the floor safe popped open.
Inside, illuminated by the warm desk lamp, sat a stack of weathered leather-bound journals, a series of unredacted bank ledgers dating back thirty years, and a single, thick yellow envelope addressed in my father’s familiar, elegant handwriting: For Charlotte, when she finally comes home.
