Chapter 6 - The Safety Deposit BoxThe digital clock on the dashboard read 2:14 AM when Evan parked behind the darkened bank in downtown Stamford.
He didn't need a key card or a bank teller. As a principal stakeholder and primary investor in First National, Evan had a standing VIP override protocol for all branch vaults. Within five minutes of inputting his private security clearance code at the side entrance, the heavy steel reinforced door hissed open, swinging inward.
The vault was cold, smelling of old paper and polished metal.
Evan walked down aisle four, stopping in front of box 409—the number Nora had given him from her ex-husband's records.
He slid his titanium master key into the dual-lock cylinder alongside the secondary manual tumbler. With a satisfying clack, the heavy metal drawer slid open.
Inside sat a thick manila envelope, a USB drive, and a small cassette recorder.
Evan pulled out the manila envelope and flipped it open under the fluorescent vault lights. Photographs spilled out onto the metal sorting table.
Photos of Arthur Vance meeting with Viktor Bennett in a seedy Stamford diner. Photos of a hydraulic wrench and bolt-cutters. And finally, a signed financial ledger detailing a wire transfer of five hundred thousand dollars from an offshore account belonging to Julian Vance, routed directly to Viktor Bennett.
Motive. Means. Opportunity.
Evan picked up the cassette recorder and pressed play. A tinty, digitized voice hissed from the small speaker:
"If anything happens to me, this goes straight to Evan Mercer. Julian Vance ordered the hit on Grace Mercer's car. I just provided the tools. The billionaire thinks it was an accident. Let's see how he likes the truth."
Evan’s hand tightened around the recorder until the plastic casing cracked.
May you like
He didn't scream. He didn't curse. A terrifying, dead calm settled over him. He pocketed the evidence, locked the vault behind him, and walked back out into the rainy night.
The hunters had become the hunted. And Evan Mercer owned the woods.
