Chapter 8 - The Billionaire's Vault
Evelyn slammed on the brakes, pulling the van onto the dark shoulder of the highway.
"What did you just say?" she demanded, turning around in her seat.
I pulled the silver key from my pocket and held it up in the dim light.
"Ethan gave this to me right before he died."
Evelyn snatched the key from my hand, examining the intricate grooves with a small flashlight.
"This is a biometric vault key for the Apex private bank," she breathed in amazement.
"He actually trusted an eleven-year-old kid with the entire corporate kingdom."
"We have to go there right now."
Evelyn threw the van into gear and aggressively whipped it around at the next exit.
We drove deep into the financial district, parking near an imposing, windowless skyscraper.
"The main vault is underground," Evelyn said, checking her weapons.
"Arthur won't know Ethan gave you the key yet, but the bank will still be heavily guarded."
We snuck through a service alley and picked the lock of a heavy maintenance door.
Evelyn expertly disabled the security cameras while I followed closely behind with the twins.
We descended a massive spiral staircase until we reached a room made entirely of polished steel.
A single, illuminated terminal stood in the center of the vault door.
"Put the key in the slot," Evelyn instructed nervously.
I walked up to the terminal and slid the silver key into the glowing receptacle.
The machine hummed loudly, scanning the microchip embedded in the metal.
The massive steel doors slowly hissed open, revealing a completely empty room.
There were no stacks of money, no gold bars, and no corporate documents.
There was only a small holographic projector resting on a pedestal in the center of the room.
The projector flared to life, displaying a life-sized, flickering image of Ethan Grant.
"If you are watching this, it means I am dead, and I successfully found you, Harper," the hologram said.
"I am so sorry I couldn't be there to raise you."
I stared at the glowing blue image, my heart pounding in my chest.
May you like
"Arthur Miller is not your father, Harper," the hologram confessed gently.
"I am."
