Chapter 4 - The Safety Deposit Box
I stared at the glowing screen of my phone, my mind racing frantically.
The text message had to be a cruel joke, or perhaps a panicked warning from someone in Richard's corrupt inner circle.
Why would I go to federal prison for something in Richard's safety deposit box?
I didn't even have a key to a box at First Boston Bank.
I quickly dialed my private investigator, a former FBI agent named Marcus Thorne.
He answered on the second ring, sounding wide awake despite it being two in the morning.
"Marcus, I need you to run a trace on an international text message I just received," I whispered, walking out into the freezing Boston night air.
I read him the message word for word.
I heard the rapid clicking of a keyboard on the other end of the line.
"Margaret, that number is bouncing off a secure server in Zurich," Marcus reported grimly.
"Whoever sent this is using military-grade encryption."
"But they are right about one thing."
"Richard opened a heavily secured safety deposit box at First Boston Bank exactly three weeks ago."
I pulled my coat tighter around my shoulders against the biting wind.
"I don't have the key, Marcus."
"And Brooke has full power of attorney now."
"She will be at the bank the second it opens."
Marcus sighed heavily.
"You don't need a key, Margaret."
"I pulled the bank records last week."
"Richard registered that box entirely under your name."
"You are the sole authorized signer."
My blood ran cold.
"Why would he put his secret box under my name?" I asked, a terrifying realization slowly dawning on me.
"Because if the feds ever found whatever is inside it, you would be the one holding the bag," Marcus answered bluntly.
"He is setting you up to take the fall for his corporate crimes."
I ended the call and hailed a cab outside the hospital.
I didn't go home to the Weston house.
I went straight to a cheap, all-night diner across the street from First Boston Bank and waited for the sun to rise.
At exactly eight-fifty-five in the morning, a sleek black town car pulled up to the bank.
Brooke Ellis stepped out, wearing a sharp designer suit and carrying a leather briefcase.
She looked exactly like a woman ready to seize an empire.
I waited until she walked through the heavy glass doors, then I followed her inside.
Brooke marched aggressively up to the main teller's desk.
"I am here to access box 814," Brooke demanded loudly, slamming Richard's forged power of attorney documents onto the marble counter.
The teller, a nervous young man, reviewed the paperwork quickly.
"I am sorry, Ms. Ellis," the teller apologized politely.
"But a power of attorney does not override the specific biometric restrictions placed on this account."
Brooke's face flushed with furious anger.
"What biometric restrictions?" she practically screamed.
I stepped up behind her, tapping her lightly on the shoulder.
Brooke spun around, her eyes widening in absolute shock.
"The kind that requires my thumbprint, Brooke," I said smoothly.
I smiled at the terrified teller and handed him my driver's license.
"I am Margaret Halston."
"I would like to access my box now, please."
The teller nodded frantically and led me toward the heavy steel vault doors.
Brooke tried to follow, but two armed security guards firmly blocked her path.
"You can't do this!" Brooke shrieked, losing her composure entirely.
"Richard said everything in that box belongs to me!"
I ignored her completely and walked into the sterile, silent vault.
The manager unlocked the dual-key system, and I pulled the long metal drawer out.
Inside the box were no stacks of cash or offshore account numbers.
There was only a thick, manila envelope.
I opened it with trembling hands.
It was filled with high-resolution photographs of Brooke Ellis.
But she wasn't with Richard in any of them.
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She was secretly meeting with a man I recognized instantly from last night's dinner.
She was meeting with Daniel Han.
