Chapter 4 - The Escape Room
I rushed to the dirty window and peeked through a tiny slit in the heavy curtains.
A dark grey van with heavily tinted windows was idling menacingly near the motel entrance.
A tall man in a dark tactical jacket stepped out, casually pulling a suppressed handgun from his waistband.
Pure panic surged through my veins like freezing ice water.
I grabbed my laptop and hastily stuffed the financial documents back into my leather bag.
Claire was hyperventilating against the wall, completely paralyzed by her own fear.
I grabbed her arm and dragged her forcefully toward the tiny bathroom.
This motel was built in the seventies, which meant the bathroom still had a small frosted window for ventilation.
I stood on the slippery edge of the bathtub and unlatched the rusty metal lock.
The window swung open with a screech, revealing a narrow, trash-filled alleyway behind the building.
I heard heavy, deliberate footsteps echoing in the carpeted hallway right outside our room.
The brass doorknob rattled violently as someone tested the lock.
I shoved Claire through the open window first, listening to her land heavily in the muddy grass outside.
I squeezed my own body through just as the deafening sound of the wooden door splintering echoed from the bedroom.
I hit the ground hard, badly scraping my knee on a discarded cinder block.
Claire and I scrambled to our feet and ran blindly down the winding alley.
We didn't stop sprinting until we reached a crowded city bus stop three blocks away.
We blended into the morning commuters, gasping for air while pretending to check the schedule.
I suddenly realized I had left Natalie behind, and she was supposed to be returning any minute.
I used my new burner phone to call her number, praying she would answer before walking into a death trap.
The call went straight to an automated voicemail system.
Claire tugged desperately at my sleeve, her face as pale as a ghost.
She told me we needed to go straight to the police precinct right now.
I shook my head, explaining that Daniel had four million dollars and a flawless paper trail framing me.
If we went to the cops, I would be arrested for fraud, and Daniel would easily arrange my death in a prison cell.
We desperately needed leverage, something Daniel couldn't simply buy his way out of.
Claire swallowed hard and said she actually knew where Daniel kept his original, handwritten ledger.
It was securely locked in a private vault at the Oakwood Country Club downtown.
I asked her how two soaking wet women were supposed to get past elite security without a membership.
Claire reached into her expensive purse and pulled out a glittering diamond ring.
She said Daniel had given it to her to keep her quiet, along with his VIP access card to the vault.
But as I looked closely at the stunning ring resting in her trembling palm, my blood ran instantly cold.
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It wasn't a brand new diamond bought for a spoiled mistress.
It was my late mother's vintage ring, the exact one I had left behind in my jewelry box just twelve hours ago.
