Chapter 3 - The Second Safe
Arthur grabbed my arm.
"Turn off the light."
I hit the switch.
Darkness swallowed us.
Grant's footsteps began descending.
Slow.
Measured.
"Claire?"
Arthur pulled me behind a storage wall.
My heart hammered so loudly I was certain Grant could hear it.
The old basement had originally been servants' quarters. Narrow passages connected the storage rooms to the wine cellar and boiler room.
Arthur pointed toward a hidden service door.
We slipped through.
Grant reached the bottom of the stairs.
"Arthur?"
I stopped.
So did Arthur.
Grant knew he was there.
"Interesting," Grant said.
Silence.
Then another voice.
Evelyn.
"Check the boiler passage."
Arthur's eyes widened.
He whispered, "Run."
We moved.
I couldn't understand how the evening had transformed so completely.
Hours earlier, I'd believed Grant was the monster and federal agents were my rescue.
Now the rescue device belonged to Grant.
Mara had either been deceived or had deceived me.
And Arthur, the man who had ignored his son's behavior for years, had suddenly become my only ally.
We reached the service staircase.
Arthur pushed open the door.
It led behind the kitchen.
Music drifted from the ballroom.
Nobody knew what was happening beneath them.
Arthur straightened his jacket.
"Go upstairs."
"What about you?"
"I'll distract them."
"No."
"Claire."
"I'm not leaving you."
He looked at me.
For the first time, he didn't look like Grant's frightened father.
He looked determined.
"I failed you every time I stayed silent."
"Arthur—"
"Let me do one thing right."
Before I could answer, he walked into the kitchen.
I headed for the back staircase.
Grant's study occupied the eastern wing on the second floor.
I had entered it hundreds of times.
But I'd never known about a second safe.
The fireplace.
Arthur had mentioned a panel.
I closed the study door.
Locked it.
Then moved toward the mantel.
My fingers searched the carved wood.
Nothing.
I tried the left side.
A small section clicked.
The panel opened.
Behind it was a steel safe.
Keypad.
Keyhole.
I entered 041792.
Green light.
Then inserted Arthur's key.
The lock released.
Inside were three folders.
A laptop.
Several passports.
And a black case filled with identical distress fobs.
I felt sick.
I opened the first folder.
Names.
Photographs.
Dates.
Women.
Some were wives of executives.
Some were assistants.
One was a journalist.
One was a city employee.
Beside each name was a status.
COOPERATIVE.
MONITORED.
REMOVED.
I stopped breathing.
My name appeared near the bottom.
CLAIRE WHITAKER.
STATUS: ACTIVE.
DEVICE 417.
The second folder contained payments.
One name appeared repeatedly.
M. VOSS.
My stomach dropped.
Payments totaling $480,000.
Could Mara actually be working for Grant?
Then I noticed the dates.
The first payment occurred five years ago.
Mara told me she'd only learned about Grant fourteen months earlier.
The study door handle moved.
I shoved the folder inside my dress.
"Claire?"
Grant.
I closed the safe.
"Open the door."
I grabbed the laptop.
Too big.
I left it.
"Claire."
The door shook.
I searched for another exit.
French windows.
Second-floor balcony.
Too high.
Then my phone buzzed.
Mara.
DON'T OPEN THAT DOOR.
I typed:
WHERE ARE YOU?
No answer.
The door shook harder.
"Claire, you're embarrassing yourself."
I hated how calm he sounded.
I moved toward the balcony.
The drop wasn't impossible.
Maybe twelve feet onto a lower roof.
I climbed over the railing.
The study door exploded inward.
Grant entered.
I jumped.
Pain shot through my ankle as I landed.
I nearly fell.
Then ran.
Behind me, Grant shouted.
"Stop her!"
Guests were leaving now.
Cars lined the driveway.
I crossed the roof and climbed down the garden trellis.
Someone grabbed me at the bottom.
I screamed.
Mara.
"Quiet."
I shoved her.
"You were paid by him."
"What?"
"Your name is in his records."
Her face hardened.
"Show me."
I pulled out the folder.
She scanned it.
Then laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because she finally understood something.
"That's not me."
"Your name is right there."
"M. Voss isn't Mara Voss."
"Who is it?"
"My father."
I stared.
"What?"
"Michael Voss."
"Your father worked for Grant?"
"He disappeared six years ago."
My anger disappeared.
"Disappeared?"
"I became an agent because of him."
She flipped through pages.
"Oh my God."
"What?"
"These aren't bribes."
"Then what are they?"
"Ransom."
A floodlight switched on.
We froze.
Grant stood above us on the balcony.
Behind him was Evelyn.
"Claire," Grant called, "come inside."
Mara drew a small weapon from beneath her dress.
Grant smiled.
"You really shouldn't do that, Agent Voss."
Mara's face changed.
He knew.
Then police lights appeared at the gates.
For one second, I felt relief.
Until Grant laughed.
"They aren't here for me."
Four officers entered the garden.
The first officer looked at Mara.
"Federal Agent Mara Voss?"
"Yes."
"Put the weapon down."
"Why?"
"You're under arrest."
Mara stared at him.
"For what?"
May you like
The officer raised his handcuffs.
"For the murder of Michael Voss."
