Chapter 16 - What the Safe Contained
"The battery is still functional," Graham whispered, shining his light onto the sleek display. "This isn't fifties technology. Vanessa had a modern digital lock installed into the antique iron."
I pulled the tarnished brass key from my pocket. My hands shook as I inserted it into the keyhole and turned it. With a heavy, metallic clunk, the internal tumblers shifted.
Instantly, the blue screen flared to life, illuminating the dark cellar in an unnatural cobalt glow. A mechanical voice, cold and synthesized, emitted from a tiny speaker:
*Key verified. Biometric confirmation required. Place right hand on scanner.*
"Wait," Marcus hissed, his eyes darting to the ceiling. "Do you hear that?"
We all froze. Faintly, from the floors above us, came the distinct, heavy thud of footsteps on hardwood. Someone had entered the mansion.
"We don't have time," Graham said urgently. "Hannah, the scanner."
"Eleanor said it required Lily's bloodline," I whispered, panic rising in my throat. "Eleanor thought Lily had to be here!"
"You're Lily's mother, Hannah," Graham urged, placing his hand over mine. "You share the exact same genetic sequence markers. Vanessa used the family's recorded genetic records from the trust fund medical files. Try it!"
The thud of footsteps upstairs grew louder, accompanied by the muffled voices of men speaking into radios. Vance’s people were already here.
I slammed my palm down onto the cold glass scanner.
A red laser line swept from the base of my wrist to my fingertips. The machine hummed, processing.
*Scan failed: Identity mismatch.*
My breath hitched. "No... no, it didn't work!"
"Try again!" Graham urged, looking back toward the stone staircase. Marcus moved to the base of the stairs, unholstering his weapon and signaling his men outside.
The footsteps above reached the top of the cellar stairs. A flashlight beam flickered against the cracked plaster at the landing.
"Identity mismatch means it’s not keyed to the matrilineal line," I gasped, my mind racing through twenty years of family lies. "Wait... Vanessa didn't use our mother's side. The family trust fund was established by my *father*!"
I pressed my hand down again, pressing harder, spreading my fingers wide to match the skeletal bone structure my father had passed down to me—the same long fingers Lily had inherited.
The blue screen flashed amber, then green.
*Identity confirmed: Sterling-Vance Heritage Override Accepted.*
The heavy iron door unlatched with a pneumatic hiss, swinging open three inches.
Graham didn't hesitate. He pulled the heavy door wide, revealing a small, concrete-lined chamber. Inside sat a heavy steel briefcase, handcuffed to a steel pipe protruding from the floor. Graham pulled a tactical multi-tool from his belt and severed the chain links in seconds, hauling the case into his arms.
"We have it!" Graham shouted. "Marcus, fall back!"
Just as Graham stepped out of the vault, a heavy boot stepped off the bottom stair into the cellar.
A man stepped into the perimeter of our flashlight beams. He was tall, dressed in a sharp charcoal overcoat that defied the filthy surroundings. His hair was silver, his eyes completely dead behind gold-rimmed spectacles, and in his gloved right hand was a silenced automatic pistol.
Arthur Vance smiled, a cold, predatory grimace.
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"Good evening, Hannah," Vance said softly. "I must thank you for opening that door. Vanessa always was a stubborn little bitch about that combination."
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