Chapter 12 - The Woman in the Bank Vault
The morning sun did nothing to warm the chill inside my bones.
I called Brenda at six o'clock in the morning.
She answered on the second ring, hearing the tremor in my voice before I could utter a full sentence.
"I'm coming over," she said without asking questions.
Thirty minutes later, Brenda was in my kitchen, studying the letter under the magnifying glass she used for cross-stitch.
"Evelyn, someone is playing a sick, cruel joke on you," Brenda whispered, her face pale.
"Nobody can copy Daniel’s script like that," I replied firmly.
"Look at the tail on the letter 'y'."
"He looped it backward because of the shrapnel injury in his wrist."
"Nobody knew about that detail except me and the army surgeon."
We left my house at nine sharp and drove into the financial district downtown.
The First Dominion Trust building stood like a stone fortress among glass high-rises.
We entered the high-ceilinged marble lobby, our footsteps echoing against the polished floor.
I approached the private vault desk and presented the heavy brass key.
An elderly clerk in a charcoal suit adjusted his spectacles and typed into an antiquated computer terminal.
"Ah, Box 414," the clerk murmured, looking up with genuine curiosity.
"The joint survivorship box."
"Survivorship?" I asked, my voice barely audible.
"Yes, Mrs. Vance."
"The secondary holder visited the facility yesterday afternoon to sign the ledger."
My knees went weak, and Brenda caught my elbow just in time.
"Who signed the ledger?" Brenda demanded sharply.
"I am afraid client confidentiality prevents me from disclosing the full identity, ma'am."
"However, the authorized co-signer is waiting in Private Viewing Room C."
"She instructed us to escort you immediately upon your arrival."
My heart hammered against my ribs like a caged bird.
The clerk unlocked the heavy iron grille leading into the basement catacombs.
We walked down a carpeted hallway lined with wood-paneled viewing chambers.
The clerk stopped at door C, knocked twice, and turned the brass handle.
"Mrs. Evelyn Vance is here," he announced.
The heavy door swung open.
Sitting at the mahogany table, dressed in an impeccably tailored cream blazer, was a woman in her late fifties.
Her cheekbones were sharp, her silver hair pulled back into a severe chignon.
Across her lap lay an open leather briefcase.
Beside her sat a cup of black tea that was still steaming.
When she turned to face me, I felt the air leave my lungs completely.
Her eyes were the exact icy blue shade as Sloan’s.
"Hello, Evelyn," the woman spoke in a voice smooth as polished stone.
"It has been thirty-four years."
"I believe you remember me as Victoria."
"Sloan’s mother."
May you like
"And Daniel’s primary partner."
***
