Chapter 19 - The Underground Survey
"You don't have the authority to condemn this property, Arthur," Victoria’s voice cut through the air like a razor.
She stepped out from the living room archway, her arms crossed, her eyes burning with icy contempt.
Sterling visibly recoiled, stepping back against the doorway.
"Victoria?" Sterling whispered, color draining from his face.
"You're dead."
"You were buried in Marseille."
"I was living in Geneva, waiting for you to make your fatal mistake, Arthur," Victoria replied smoothly.
"The bloodline clause is registered with the state supreme court."
"Harrison lives here."
"The condemnation order is legally void without his consent."
Sterling’s jaw clenched, his polished exterior crumbling away to reveal the rabid animal underneath.
"A piece of paper signed thirty years ago won't stop the state environmental agency," Sterling snarled.
He raised a hand and whistled toward the driveway.
From the second SUV, four men in orange safety vests emerged, carrying heavy rotary drilling equipment and ground-penetrating radar units.
"We are conducting a core survey right now under emergency municipal health codes," Sterling sneered.
"If we hit toxic runoff, this entire block will be sealed by the National Guard."
"And you won't even be allowed back inside to collect your clothes."
Harrison lunged forward, but Detective Miller stepped in front of him, drawing his badge.
"Councilman Sterling, you are trespassing on private property without a valid judicial warrant," Miller warned.
"Arrest me then, Miller," Sterling scoffed.
"By tomorrow morning, your badge will belong to someone who knows how to follow orders."
The workers pushed past Miller onto the rear patio, their boots crushing the broken glass.
They set up the heavy hydraulic rig directly over the scarred dirt where the ammunition box had been unearthed.
The deafening roar of the gas generator split the midnight air.
"Stop them!" Sloan screamed.
"They're going to breach the containment seal intentionally!"
I didn't scream.
I didn't run outside.
I looked at my left hand.
I gripped the emerald setting of my wedding ring with my right thumb and forefinger.
I twisted the gold bezel with all my strength.
With a faint metallic click, the emerald loosened, sliding out on a tiny threaded brass cylinder.
Protruding from the bottom was a fine, three-inch steel pin shaped like an antique key.
May you like
I turned toward the living room, where the tall, mahogany grandfather clock stood in the shadows.
***
