Chapter 6 - The Secret Safe Behind the Canvas
I slipped back into the master bedroom like a phantom, bolting the heavy interior lock from the inside.
Raymond’s condition was visibly improving by the hour now that the poison was clearing his bloodstream.
His hands were moving with greater purpose, and he could turn his head without gasping for breath.
"Tomorrow night," I whispered, leaning over him urgently.
"I overheard Christopher in the foyer."
"He's bringing in his lawyers tomorrow evening to execute the deed transfer before you die."
Raymond’s jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the velvet duvet.
"He doesn't have the original deed," Raymond said, his voice deeper and firmer than before.
"He has a forged replica that will only pass scrutiny if the original ledger never surfaces."
"Where is the original, Mr. Winslow?"
"Behind the portrait of my late wife, Eleanor, in the private library on the third floor."
"There is a biometric safe wired directly into the house's primary structural beams."
"He couldn't break it open with drills without triggering a police lockdown."
"He thinks the safe is empty because I emptied my jewelry collection six months ago."
"What is inside?"
"The complete financial records of Christopher's shadow corporations."
"He embezzled forty-two million dollars from our maritime shipping accounts to pay off offshore gambling debts."
"When I confronted him in October, he tampered with the brake line on my sedan."
My jaw dropped in sheer horror.
"The car crash... it wasn't an accident?"
"No," Raymond replied, his eyes dark with righteous fury.
"When I survived the crash with only minor fractures, he hired Wallace to finish the job under the guise of post-traumatic therapy."
"They kept me sedated, trapped inside this paralyzed shell, waiting for the organs to fail."
"Nora, you must go to the library tonight."
"The safe combination is Eleanor’s birthday: zero-nine-one-four."
"Take the blue thumb drive and the red leather notebook."
"Without those documents, Arthur Vance cannot stop the board from transferring ownership tomorrow."
I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked at the clock.
It was two o'clock in the morning.
The house was dark, silent, and treacherous.
I placed Theodore safely in his crib, surrounded him with soft pillows, and kissed his cheek.
"Mommy will be right back, baby," I whispered.
I took off my shoes, slipping into the cold hallway in my wool socks.
Every creak of the floorboards sounded like a gunshot in the pitch-black silence of the Winslow mansion.
I climbed the spiraling stairs toward the third floor, avoiding the loose steps Raymond had warned me about.
The third-floor library was freezing, the air thick with the scent of aged leather and dust.
I found the oil portrait of Eleanor Winslow hanging above the stone fireplace.
My hands trembled as I tilted the heavy gilded frame to the right.
There, embedded in the solid brick, was the brushed steel keypad of the wall safe.
I entered the digits: 0 - 9 - 1 - 4.
A tiny green LED clicked on, followed by a heavy mechanical thud.
The heavy door swung open smoothly.
Inside lay the red leather ledger and a small metal thumb drive.
Just as my fingers wrapped around the evidence, a cold voice cut through the dark behind me.
"Looking for bedtime reading, Nora?"
May you like
I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat.
Christopher Winslow was standing in the doorway, a loaded silver revolver resting casually in his right hand.
