“For how long?”
“Nearly an hour.”
The rain tapped against the windows like fingernails.
I moved past her toward my father’s study.
The entrance to the vault was hidden behind the west bookcase, just as it had been since I was a child. My father used to joke that old families loved secrets because secrets were the only inheritance tax could not touch.
Daniel entered the sequence.
The bookcase unlocked with a soft mechanical click.
Behind it, the steel door waited.
I keyed in my code.
For one dreadful second, nothing happened.
Then the vault opened.
The archive lights flickered on.
At first, everything looked normal. Rows of climate-controlled drawers. Fireproof cabinets. Sealed document cases. My father’s world, organized with ruthless care.
Then Daniel saw it.
“Claire.”
He was standing near the back wall, in front of Drawer Seven.
It was open.
Empty.
My breath caught.
Drawer Seven contained only one category of files.
Foundational ownership documents.
Original shares.
Trust amendments.
Family succession papers.
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