Chapter 14 - The Forgotten Vault of Secrets
Months had passed since the complete,
surgical dismantling of Victor’s pathetic existence,
and the city had slowly moved on,
forgetting the scandal,
forgetting the players,
leaving only the victors to enjoy the spoils of the silent war.
I was sitting in my spacious,
sunlit office on the top floor of the city’s most prestigious commercial tower,
reviewing the quarterly earnings of the massive holding company that Ethan and I had built from the ashes of Victor’s debt.
My desk was a slab of polished,
imported black marble,
reflecting the bright blue sky outside the floor-to-ceiling windows,
a perfect metaphor for the absolute clarity and strength of my new life.
The intercom on my desk buzzed softly,
and my executive assistant’s voice crackled through the speaker,
informing me that the senior manager of the downtown branch of the National Heritage Bank was holding on line one.
I pressed the blinking,
green button,
picking up the sleek receiver,
expecting a routine call regarding one of our massive corporate accounts,
but the manager’s tone was hushed,
almost conspiratorial.
"Mrs. Vance," the banker began nervously,
clearing his throat,
"We were conducting a routine audit of our long-term underground safety deposit boxes,
and we discovered a vault registered under your late husband’s name,
with a secondary authorization listing you as the sole beneficiary."
I leaned back in my ergonomic leather chair,
steepleing my fingers,
a cold,
curious smile playing on my lips.
Even from the grave,
Victor was still leaving behind pieces of his complicated,
messy web,
but this time,
I held all the keys,
and I controlled all the outcomes.
I called Ethan,
who was working in his own massive corner office down the hall,
and together,
we took my private elevator down to the waiting town car,
driving in comfortable,
powerful silence to the ancient,
granite-faced bank building.
The bank manager personally escorted us down a winding,
carpeted staircase,
into the heavily guarded,
climate-controlled vault in the basement,
leaving us alone with a heavy,
metal lockbox that had been sealed for nearly five years.
Ethan inserted the master key the bank provided,
turning it with a loud,
satisfying click,
and pulled the metal drawer open,
revealing the final,
hidden secrets of Victor Vance.
Inside,
there was no jewelry,
there were no gold bars,
there were only thick,
tightly banded stacks of hundred-dollar bills,
amounting to easily over a quarter of a million dollars in untraceable,
liquid cash.
Resting carefully on top of the money was a single,
sealed white envelope,
with my name written across the front in Victor’s familiar,
messy handwriting,
the ink slightly faded from years of sitting in the dark.
Ethan looked at me,
his face a mask of cold indifference,
waiting for my instruction,
waiting to see if this voice from the grave would finally,
somehow,
manage to break my resolve.
I picked up the envelope,
feeling the thick,
expensive parchment between my fingers,
staring at the name he had written,
knowing exactly what kind of manipulative,
pathetic apologies were waiting inside.
He had probably written it years ago,
during one of his brief,
drunken moments of guilt,
apologizing for the affair,
begging for my forgiveness,
trying to buy his way back into my heart just in case his secret ever blew up in his face.
I didn't open it,
I didn't tear the seal,
I didn't even pause to wonder what specific,
flowery words he had chosen to try and save his blackened,
ruined soul.
I walked over to the small,
brass trash can sitting in the corner of the private viewing room,
pulled a gold-plated lighter from my purse,
and flicked the flint,
producing a bright,
steady yellow flame.
I held the envelope to the fire,
watching calmly as the paper caught,
the edges curling and turning black,
the smoke rising in a thin,
grey ribbon toward the ceiling.
I dropped the burning letter into the brass bin,
watching the words I would never read turn entirely to ash,
erasing the last,
desperate attempt of a weak man trying to maintain control over my emotions.
"Count the cash,
Ethan," I ordered smoothly,
turning away from the smoldering trash can,
brushing a tiny speck of ash from my pristine white blazer.
"Deposit it directly into the holding company’s aggressive expansion fund,
and close this account permanently."
Ethan smiled,
a genuine,
proud smile,
and began pulling the stacks of money out of the box,
May you like
leaving the ghost of Victor Vance locked forever in the dark,
silent vault where it truly belonged.
