Chapter 20 - The Vault Beneath LaSalle Street
The old bank smelled like dust, cold metal, and secrets.
Police surrounded the building by the time we arrived.
The basement vault door stood open.
No forced entry.
No broken locks.
Someone had used valid credentials.
My credentials.
“How?” I asked.
Gabriel examined the keypad.
“My father probably had administrative access built into the system decades ago.”
Massimo’s security chief shook his head.
“The system was replaced six years ago.”
Gabriel gave him a humorless smile.
“You still think Dominic Moretti operates by breaking technology.”
“He owns people.”
Exactly.
Inside the vault were rows of private boxes.
Most were empty.
My brass key opened Box 417.
Also empty.
Except for one envelope.
Massimo stood beside me as I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Me.
At my wedding.
Walking down the aisle toward Massimo.
Written on the back:
YOUR FATHER STOLE FROM ME.
NOW YOU WILL RETURN IT.
I felt Massimo’s anger beside me.
“What did Thomas steal?” Gabriel asked.
“The ledger.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
Gabriel pointed toward the empty box.
“My father already knows about the ledger. If that were all he wanted, he’d have taken it years ago.”
Donna Caterina had come with us despite everyone objecting.
She walked slowly into the vault.
“Thomas stole something else.”
“What?”
She looked at Box 417.
“A trust seal.”
I stared at her.
“What is that?”
“The Bellini Trust’s original embossed corporate seal.”
Gabriel cursed quietly.
Massimo frowned.
“Why does a seal matter?”
“Because before electronic filing,” Gabriel explained, “certain private trust amendments required embossed authentication.”
My stomach tightened.
“You’re saying whoever has the seal can create documents?”
“Not valid ones.”
“But convincing ones.”
Donna Caterina nodded.
“Thomas took it so Dominic could never manufacture another amendment.”
I thought about my father.
An elevator mechanic.
A temporary accountant.
A quiet man who had apparently stolen a financial weapon from one of Chicago’s most dangerous financiers.
“Where did he hide it?”
Nobody knew.
Then my phone rang.
Claire.
I answered.
“Hey.”
“Soph, are you busy?”
Massimo nearly laughed.
“Define busy.”
“I’m at the old house.”
I froze.
“What old house?”
“Mom and Dad’s.”
“Why?”
“I was looking for my birth certificate.”
“Claire, leave.”
“What?”
“Leave now.”
Massimo was already signaling security.
My sister heard the panic in my voice.
“Sophie?”
“Get outside. Don’t touch anything.”
There was silence.
Then Claire whispered.
“Someone’s here.”
My entire body went cold.
“Lock yourself in a room.”
“I’m in Dad’s workshop.”
“Lock the door.”
Footsteps sounded through her phone.
Slow.
Heavy.
Then a man’s voice.
“Claire Miller?”
She gasped.
The line went dead.
I screamed her name.
Massimo grabbed his phone.
“Get every unit to the Miller property now!”
We raced from the vault.
The drive felt endless.
Twelve minutes.
Then ten.
Then six.
I called Claire repeatedly.
No answer.
When we finally reached my childhood home, the front door was open.
Massimo tried to keep me behind him.
I pushed past.
“Claire!”
No response.
The living room was empty.
Kitchen empty.
Hallway empty.
We reached Dad’s workshop.
The door stood open.
A chair had been overturned.
Claire’s phone lay shattered on the floor.
On my father’s workbench sat a single black gardenia.
Beneath it was a note.
BRING THE BLUE LEDGER.
COME ALONE.
MIDNIGHT.
Massimo read it.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“That’s my sister.”
“And it’s exactly what he wants.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
I turned toward him.
For one terrible second, we weren’t husband and wife.
We were two people terrified of losing the same family.
Then Massimo pulled me into his arms.
“We get her back.”
I closed my eyes.
“How?”
May you like
His voice became steady.
“By making Dominic Moretti believe he finally won.”
