Chapter 8 - Shadows in the PenthouseTwo weeks passed in a blur of private tutors, medical check-ups, tailored clothes, and endless whispers from society magazines.
The trial of Victor Vance was moving at lightning speed. With federal prosecutors armed with the classified documents recovered from my grandfather’s subterranean vault, Victor was denied bail and locked away in a maximum-security federal penitentiary upstate.
It was late Friday night. The penthouse was dead silent, save for the low hum of the city traffic far below.
I woke up thirsty. Slipping out of my enormous canopy bed, I tiptoed down the carpeted hallway toward the kitchen to grab a glass of water.
As I passed the grand study—my grandfather’s private office—I noticed a narrow strip of golden light spilling out from beneath the heavy oak door.
I thought everyone was asleep.
I crept closer, pressing my ear against the wood.
“…I’m telling you, Arthur, something doesn't feel right,” Evelyn’s voice drifted through the gap, sounding tight and anxious. “The federal indictment only listed Victor’s financial crimes. But what about the corporate shell companies in the Cayman Islands? They’re still active. Someone is still moving funds.”
My grandfather’s raspy voice replied, sounding deeply tired. “Let the feds handle it, Evelyn. Victor is behind bars. He has no access to the outside world.”
“Are you sure about that?” Evelyn pressed. “What about his chief accountant? The one who disappeared the night of the gala? Richard Cross hasn't been found.”
A heavy silence fell over the study.
Outside in the hallway, a floorboard beneath my socked foot gave a tiny, almost imperceptible creak.
Inside the study, conversation stopped instantly.
“Who’s out there?” grandfather called out sharply.
Before I could step back, the study door swung wide open, revealing my grandfather standing there with a furrowed brow. But as his eyes landed on me standing in my pajamas, his stern expression melted instantly.
“Lily?” he asked softly. “What are you doing up, little one?”
“I was just thirsty, Grandpa,” I whispered, looking down at my bare feet.
Evelyn stepped up behind him, wearing a silk robe, and gently placed a warm hand on my shoulder. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you some water. Then I’ll tell you a story about how stubborn this old man of yours is.”
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We walked back to the kitchen together, the warmth of their hands pushing away the chill in the air. But as I took a sip of water, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that Evelyn was right.
The monster was in a cage, but his shadow was still moving.
