Chapter 18
The word vault echoed in Meredith’s mind. In all the years she had lived in the grand Denver estate, she had explored every corridor, every wing, every hidden storage room. But she had never found a vault.
She looked at the clock on the wall. 1:15 AM.
Without hesitation, Meredith locked her desk, grabbed her car keys and a heavy-duty tactical flashlight, and walked out toward the private elevator.
Forty minutes later, her black Maybach pulled up to the wrought-iron gates of the Denver estate. The sprawling mansion stood dark and silent against the moonlight, looking like a sleeping beast. Ethan and his mother were long gone, their belongings dumped in a municipal trash heap hours ago. The estate belonged entirely to her now.
Meredith unlocked the grand front doors, stepping into the cavernous marble foyer. The air was cool, smelling faintly of the expensive cedar polish the housekeeping staff used.
She walked straight past the sweeping staircase and down the long eastern corridor toward her father’s former private study—a room Ethan had turned into a cigar lounge and poker den.
Pushing open the heavy oak door, Meredith shone her flashlight across the room. The air smelled of old leather and stale tobacco. She walked over to the massive mahogany bookshelves lining the back wall.
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According to her father’s journal, the entrance wasn't behind a painting or a sliding panel. It was hidden in plain sight.
She ran her fingers along the spines of the leather-bound law books on the bottom shelf, searching for the anomaly described in the diary entry: The book that never speaks.
