Chapter 10 - The Missing Ledger
The Gulfstream accelerated down the runway, its red tail lights disappearing into the dark horizon toward the southern coast.
I stood alone on the wet tarmac, the wind from the receding engines whipping my jacket around my shoulders. The security guard from the SUV jogged up behind me, breathing heavily, but he didn't draw his weapon. He simply stared at the wreckage of the mobile stairs lying twisted at our feet.
"You're Parker?" the guard asked, his voice cautious.
"I am," I said, lowering the heavy leather duffel bag to the ground.
"Detective Miller's looking for you. The fire department contained the blaze at Elm Street, but they found something in the master bedroom safe that wasn't in the municipal registry."
I looked up at him. "What kind of something?"
"A second safety deposit key," the guard said, pulling a small plastic evidence tag from his tactical vest. "Not from the First National bank downtown. From a private locker registered in your grandfather’s name at an offshore branch in the Caymans—dated three days before he died."
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed in my pocket with a persistent, high-priority notification.
I pulled it out. It wasn't a call from Miller. It was an encrypted email notification from an international maritime registry, accompanied by a scanned PDF title deed.
The property wasn't the house on Elm Street.
It was the commercial timber port on the coast—the very asset my father had claimed was bankrupt thirty years ago. And according to the electronic transfer timestamp stamped ten minutes ago, 51% of its voting shares had just been transferred to a secondary corporate entity controlled by an unknown buyer in Zurich.
My phone rang instantly. An international number.
May you like
I swiped the screen and pressed it to my ear.
"Hello, big brother," Harper’s voice whispered through the static, cold and triumphant over the satellite connection. "Did you really think Grandpa only trusted one vault?"
