Chapter 3 - The Ghost Bank
I stared down the barrel of the suppressed weapon.
My heart hammered violently against my ribs.
“Julian hired you to kill me?” I asked, keeping my voice as steady as possible.
The man chuckled dryly and stepped further into the home office.
“Julian hired me to secure his mother’s property,” he replied smoothly.
“Hand over the silver key, and you can walk out the front door unharmed.”
I slowly reached into the pocket of my coat.
My fingers brushed against the cold metal of the key.
I also felt the heavy can of pepper spray attached to my keychain.
“The key is right here,” I said, pulling my hand out of my pocket.
I pressed the button on the canister and sprayed a thick, blinding cloud directly into his eyes.
The man screamed in agony and dropped his pistol to clutch his face.
I kicked the weapon under the heavy desk and sprinted past him into the hallway.
I ran out the front door and threw myself into my car.
I locked the doors and sped out of the suburban neighborhood before he could recover.
My hands shook violently on the steering wheel as I merged onto the dark highway.
I drove directly to the downtown address associated with the bank logo on the key.
The original bank had burned down fifteen years ago in a massive electrical fire.
Now, the address belonged to a high-end, heavily fortified private security vault facility.
I parked my car a block away and walked through the freezing rain to the grand entrance.
A security guard in a tailored uniform stopped me at the thick glass doors.
“The facility is closed for the evening, ma'am,” the guard stated firmly.
I held up the silver key so the lobby lights caught the unique engraving.
The guard’s expression immediately changed from bored professionalism to absolute shock.
He unlocked the glass doors and gestured for me to follow him inside.
“We have been waiting for someone to present that key for over a decade,” he whispered.
He led me down a sleek, modern hallway and into a heavily armored elevator.
We descended five stories below the city streets.
The elevator doors opened to reveal a massive, circular steel vault door.
A sophisticated biometric scanner glowed a faint blue light next to the heavy metal wheel.
“The key only grants access to the outer chamber,” the guard explained, stepping away from the panel.
“The actual safety deposit box requires a matching retinal scan from the registered account holder.”
My stomach violently dropped to the cold floor.
May you like
Eleanor was the registered account holder.
Eleanor was dead, and I had absolutely no way to bypass a highly advanced retinal scanner.
