Chapter 17 - The Laurent Vault
“Do not alter course, Miller,” Daniel ordered into the cabin phone, his voice steady but lethal. “Broadcast emergency diplomatic clearance code Echo-Seven-Seven. Arthur registered this aircraft under sovereign diplomatic transit fifteen years ago. If they force this plane down in Bern, we will be flying blind into a trap.”
The plane shuddered as the pilots accelerated, the twin engines roaring into high-altitude overdrive. For forty harrowing minutes, the cabin remained in dead silence as the jet banked steeply over the snow-capped Alps, descending sharply toward the runway of Geneva under cover of thick mountain fog.
When the wheels finally screeched against the tarmac, it wasn't the regular commercial terminal that welcomed them. Instead, four armored Mercedes sedans with tinted windows and black flags were waiting alongside the private hangar.
Henri de Montfort stood beside the lead vehicle, holding a heavy wool coat against the piercing Alpine wind.
As Emma and Daniel rushed down the airstair with Lily wrapped tightly in Emma’s arms, Henri approached quickly, bowing his head with solemn respect.
“Welcome home, Emma,” de Montfort said urgently. “We have no time for pleasantries. The airport authorities have already been pressured to detain this flight. We must reach the Laurent vault beneath the Old Town immediately.”
Ten minutes later, the armored convoy tore through the cobblestone streets of Geneva, arriving at the fortified limestone facade of Banque Privée Laurent overlooking Lake Geneva.
They were ushered down two separate security elevators, descending three levels beneath the street into a subterranean vault lined with reinforced titanium and centuries-old granite.
At the end of a long, pristine corridor stood a massive circular door forged from dark bronze. In the center of the door was a biometric scanner paired with a mechanical keyhole shaped like an eight-pointed star.
De Montfort turned to Emma, pulling a velvet pouch from his pocket. Inside was the silver star-shaped pendant that had hung from Emma’s neck since childhood—a pendant Arthur had told her was an antique heirloom from her grandmother.
“Your mother’s key,” de Montfort whispered. “And your hand.”
Emma stepped forward, her heart pounding against her ribs. She inserted the star into the bronze slot and placed her palm flat against the chilled biometric glass.
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A green beam swept across her skin. The vault groaned as three heavy hydraulic bolts retracted with the sound of thunder.
***
