Chapter 3 - The Vault of ShadowsInside the ICU waiting room of St. Jude’s Memorial, the air smelled of floor wax and antiseptic. Ethan sat on a rigid vinyl chair, his tailored suit jacket crumpled, his hands resting on his knees. In his right palm, he rolled the brass key back and forth.
A private detective Ethan had kept on personal retainer for years walked over. "The key belongs to a private safety deposit box at the Old National Bank downtown," Marcus reported in a hushed tone. "It was registered twenty-five years ago under your father’s personal alias—Arthur Vance."
Ethan’s heart hammered against his ribs. Arthur Vance. The name his father used when he signed confidential land deeds outside the family firm.
"Is the bank accessible?" Ethan asked.
"The head of security owes me a favor," Marcus said. "We can get into the vault tonight before the morning press catches wind of what happened."
Ethan stood up instantly. He walked over to the glass window overlooking Claire’s room. Inside, she was hooked to heart monitors and IV drips. The doctor had confirmed two cracked ribs, a severe concussion, and internal bleeding that they had managed to stabilize.
Ten years ago, Arthur Whitmore had supposedly died in a tragic single-car accident on a slippery mountain road. His body was burned beyond recognition. Eleanor had mourned gracefully, taken the helm of the board, and erased every trace of Arthur’s personal papers.
And on that exact same week ten years ago, Claire—Ethan’s childhood sweetheart and the daughter of the family’s head accountant—had vanished, accused by Eleanor of embezzling two million dollars.
"Marcus," Ethan said, his voice dropping to an icy tone. "Keep two armed guards at Claire’s door. Nobody enters without your clearance. If my mother so much as steps onto this floor, arrest her."
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"Understood, boss. What about the bank?"
"Bring the car," Ethan said. "We're going to open my father's grave."
