Chapter 38: The Lawyer's Vault

"The story will run," Maya said, closing her laptop. "It'll be online within the hour. By sunrise, Edith Sterling will be the most wanted woman in America."

She stood up, gathering the black box and the files. "I'm taking these to the editor. You should get some sleep."

She walked away, her heels clicking on the pavement. I watched her go, but the knot in my stomach didn't loosen.

"It's not enough," I said.

Ben looked at me, his face illuminated by the harsh streetlamp. "Sarah, we just handed them a murder weapon. We proved fraud, kidnapping, illegal adoption..."

"We proved crimes," I said. "But we didn't prove ownership. Edith still controls the assets. She still has the lawyers. She can tie this up in court for years, and by the time it's settled, Leo will be dead."

I paced the small circle of light.

"We need the will," I said. "The original will. The one inside the biometric safe in the study."

Ben frowned. "We checked the safe. It was empty."

"That was the *decoy* safe," I said. "Edith loves decoys. Decoy babies. Decoy planes. Why would she put the real will in a safe behind a painting? It's a cliché."

I looked at Ben.

"Your grandfather," I said. "He built the hidden compartments. Did he build anything else?"

Ben rubbed his jaw, his eyes narrowing in thought.

"He built the wainscoting," he said slowly. "In the study. He told me once that the paneling was his masterpiece. He said he built it to hide the 'bones of the house'."

"The bones," I whispered.

"We have to go back," Ben said. "To the bunker."

"The bunker?"

"The study in the bunker," Ben said. "It's a replica. I saw it when we were down there. The paneling... it's exactly the same as the main house. She recreated her seat of power underground."

We drove back to the ruins. The police tape fluttered in the breeze, but the site was deserted. The fire investigators had gone home for the night.

We slipped through the broken bulkhead door, descending into the cool, chemical-smelling silence of the bunker.

We walked past the vanity where Edith had tried to bargain for her life. We went to the desk.

Ben knelt by the wall, running his hands along the dark wood paneling. He pressed, tapped, and listened.

"Here," he whispered.

He pushed a knot in the wood. A section of the wainscoting popped open, revealing a steel faceplate.

There was no keypad. No combination dial.

Just a small, glass rectangle.

"Biometric," Ben said. "Fingerprint scanner. And it looks old. Early nineties tech."

I stared at the scanner. "It needs a print."

"Edith's?" Ben asked.

"No," I said. "The will establishes the Sterling bloodline. Edith isn't a Sterling. If Grandfather Sterling built this... or if Clara had it installed before she was committed..."

"It needs a Sterling print," Ben said. "It needs Clara."

"Clara is in a coma," I said. "And the police are watching her room."

I looked around the bunker. Edith had scrubbed it clean. There were no glasses, no personal items left behind.

Then I remembered the diaper bag.

I had dropped it in the car when we switched vehicles, but I had grabbed the small items.

I dug into my pocket.

I pulled out a small, silver picture frame. It was tarnished, the glass covered in a fine layer of gray dust. I had found it in the bottom of the diaper bag, buried under the onesies. It was a picture of a star.

"Clara packed this," I said. "Thirty years ago. She packed it for the baby."

I held the frame up to the light. The dust was thick, but underneath, on the surface of the glass, I could see the faint, oily whorls of a fingerprint.

"It's dusty," Ben warned. "The scanner might not read it."

"It has to," I said.

I looked around the room. I grabbed a roll of clear packing tape from Edith's desk supplies.

I tore off a strip.

"What are you doing?" Ben asked.

"Lifting the print," I said. "If I press the glass to the scanner, the dust might scatter. But if I lift the oil..."

I pressed the tape onto the glass surface of the frame. I smoothed it down gently, praying that thirty-year-old skin oils had survived the time capsule.

I peeled the tape back. The smudge came with it, a ghostly pattern of ridges and loops.

I walked to the safe.

My hand was trembling. I steadied it with my other hand.

I pressed the tape, sticky side down, onto the glass scanner.

I held my breath.

The machine whirred. A red light blinked once. Twice.

"Come on," I whispered. "Mom. Open the door."

The light blinked a third time.

It turned green.

A heavy, mechanical *thunk* echoed in the room. The bolts retracted.