Chapter 8 - The Registrar’s Safe
The private office of County Registrar Higgins smelled faintly of pipe tobacco and stale lemon furniture polish. The heavy oak door was locked, but Audrey’s master keycard slid into the magnetic side reader with a soft, green confirming click.
Clack-hiss.
The door swung inward.
“Move fast,” Harris whispered, stepping into the room with his hand resting near his sidearm. He swept the space with a tactical glance, checking the corners before motioning for Naomi and me to follow. “If anyone spots us on the internal security cameras, we have about four minutes before campus security treats us like armed burglars.”
Naomi rushed over to the cherry-wood bookcase behind Higgins’s mahogany desk, sliding it aside to reveal a heavy, steel wall safe inset into the concrete foundation.
“The combination,” Naomi said, looking back at Audrey. “Do you have it?”
Audrey stepped into the room, swallowing hard as she walked up to the dial. “Mother used the date grandfather’s shipping company was incorporated. October 14th, 1968.”
She spun the heavy steel dial: left to 10, right to 14, left to 68.
With a deep, satisfying mechanical thud, the locking bolt retracted. Naomi pulled the heavy steel door open.
Inside sat neatly organized rows of leather-bound archival volumes, notarized property titles, and a thick manila envelope labeled in bold red ink: ERIKSON ESTATE — MASTER CODICIL (CONFIDENTIAL).
Naomi snatched the envelope, tearing open the flap and pulling out a heavy parchment document covered in precise, old-fashioned fountain pen ink. She scanned the final page, her eyes widening behind her glasses.
“My God,” Naomi breathed, her voice filled with quiet awe. “This isn't just a falsified probate transfer. This is an ironclad, notarized declaration signed by Arthur Erikson explicitly revoking Beatrice’s executive authority and naming Caleb—and by extension, his direct lineage—as the sole managing trustees of the entire estate.”
She looked up at me, a triumphant smile breaking across her face. “Lucas, this completely invalidates every single asset seizure, corporate maneuver, and guardianship claim your mother has filed for the last five years.”
Before anyone could celebrate, the red LED light on the office security keypad mounted beside the door began flashing furiously, accompanied by a high-pitched, automated warning chime:
“SECURITY ALERT: UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS DETECTED IN ADMIN WING 4. POLICE DISPATCH NOTIFIED.”
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“We’ve been compromised,” Harris barked, drawing his weapon. “Campus security is two floors up and moving down the stairwell right now!”
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