Chapter 6 - Secrets in the Steel BoxThe interior of the vault was not filled with gold bars or stacks of unmarked bills.
It was lined with rows of filing cabinets, yellowed ledgers, and thousands of microcassettes dating back decades.
"In here!" Adrian shouted, pulling Claire inside just as a hail of bullets peppered the outer frame of the doorway. He slammed the heavy steel door shut behind them, turning the massive wheeling lock until the automatic deadbolts slammed home with a resounding, impenetrable thud.
Silence descended once more, thick and suffocating, broken only by their ragged breathing.
Claire leaned against a metal shelf, her legs giving out completely. She slid down to the cold floor, her hands shaking violently.
"We're trapped," she whispered, looking up at the three-foot-thick steel barrier. "If Marcus has a blowtorch or C4—"
"He doesn't," Adrian interrupted, holstering his weapon and kneeling down beside her. He looked around the vault, his face illuminated by the emergency overhead lights. "This vault is built to withstand a tactical missile strike. Marcus can pound on that door until his hands bleed; he won't get through before my backup arrives."
"Your backup?" Claire scoffed bitterly, tears of exhaustion spilling over her lashes. "You said your own syndicate is trying to overthrow you! Who is left to save us?"
Adrian reached out, his hand hesitating for a fraction of a second before gently wiping a streak of soot from her cheek. "The men who report to me, Claire. Not my uncles' men. My men. The ones I hand-picked after I took the throne."
Claire looked up into his dark, intense eyes, seeing a vulnerability there that no boardroom or street corner had ever witnessed.
"Why did you really hire me?" she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper in the echoing vault. "Was it really just to keep me close as bait?"
Adrian dropped his hand, looking away toward the rows of metal filing cabinets. He stood up slowly, walking over to the second row and pulling out a heavy, leather-bound ledger labeled 1998 — MORETTI & VANCE.
"When I was twelve years old," Adrian said, his back turned to her, "my father was murdered in his own study. The official report said heart attack. I found the empty poison vial in the wastebasket." He turned around, holding the ledger out toward her. "Your mother was the only person in this organization who tried to help him. She smuggled his personal journal out of the mansion the night he died."
Claire slowly climbed to her feet, walking over to take the heavy book from his hands.
"She tried to save my family," Adrian continued, his voice cracking slightly. "And when I found out fifteen years later that my uncle had killed her for it... I swore I would tear the entire syndicate down from the inside out, piece by piece, until every last person responsible was rotting in a cell or six feet under."
Claire opened the ledger. The first page was written in her mother's precise, elegant cursive.
To whoever finds this: If Adrian is reading this, I pray you have survived your uncles. The truth is inside.
May you like
"You didn't build an empire to rule Chicago, did you?" Claire asked, her voice trembling.
"No," Adrian said, stepping close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his chest. "I built it to burn it down. And you just handed me the matches."
