Chapter 5 - The Heirloom Vault
The study was empty, save for the single silver necklace resting quietly in the center of my mahogany desk where Elena had left it.
I walked across the room, my boots crunching on drywall dust, and picked up the pendant. The tiny blue stone caught the amber glow of the emergency strip lights, pulsing like a faint heartbeat. Beside it, the medical report had been folded open to a previously unread page—a page containing a handwritten note scrawled in handwriting I would recognize anywhere in the universe.
Genevieve’s handwriting.
“Lawson, if you’re reading this, it means I couldn't stop them. They built the children’s biology to be living vaults for the formula. The only way to save Jonah and Blythe is to open the old vault beneath the Lake Michigan research dock before the countdown finishes. Trust Elena. She’s the only one who knows the key.”
My breath hitched in my throat. Lake Michigan. The old subterranean research facility I had decommissioned and sealed five years ago, believing it was nothing more than an abandoned corporate tax write-off.
Prescott jogged into the study, holding a secure encrypted tablet. “Boss, we traced the uplink signal from the hackers’ mobile relay. It’s bouncing off a maritime signal tower right on the edge of the old municipal docks—directly above your decommissioned facility on the lake.”
I gripped the edge of the desk so hard the ancient wood groaned under my fingers.
They weren't just trying to steal data. They were luring us out. They knew about the subterranean vault, they knew about Genevieve’s hidden research, and they were using my dying children as leverage to force me to unlock it with my own biometric clearance.
I looked at Prescott, my eyes burning with cold, absolute fury.
“Call the tactical transport team. Arm the heavy gear. We’re going to the lake.”
Prescott nodded, turning toward the door, but stopped as my secure satellite phone began vibrating violently on the desk.
The caller ID displayed a private, restricted satellite relay.
I picked it up and hit speakerphone.
“Mr. Mercer,” a smooth, chillingly familiar voice echoed through the device—a voice I hadn't heard since the day of Genevieve’s funeral. “I trust you enjoyed the wake-up call at your estate. You have precisely four hours to bring the biometric access keys to the lake facility, or your children’s medical monitors will experience a permanent, irreversible flatline.”
May you like
The line clicked dead.
I stared at the screen for one frozen second, then slipped the silver necklace into my tactical vest, picked up my weapon, and walked out into the night.
