Chapter 4 - The Vultures Circle Back
I pressed my thumb against the cool glass of the biometric scanner. A thin green laser swept over my skin, accompanied by a sharp chime. Deep within the frame, heavy hydraulic bolts slid back with a resounding thud.
The vault door swung inward.
Inside was an impeccably organized geological archive: rows of climate-controlled sample cases, illuminated drafting tables covered in topographical maps, and a secured server rack quietly humming in the corner. In the center of the main desk sat a solitary leather-bound journal with my name embossed in gold foil on the cover: *For Clara, My True Heir.*
Before I could take a step toward it, a shrill, piercing alarm cut through the underground stillness.
Red strobe lights pulsed near the ceiling, and a wall-mounted monitor instantly flickered to life, displaying live exterior surveillance feeds from around the property.
On the screen displaying the main driveway, Richard’s rented moving truck was parked sideways across the locked gate. But he wasn't alone anymore. A county sheriff’s cruiser had pulled up behind him, its emergency lights flashing, along with a sleek silver sedan I recognized immediately.
Chloe stepped out of the silver sedan, wearing an oversized designer trench coat and oversized sunglasses, holding her smartphone high in the air on a selfie stick, streaming live to her thousands of followers. Beside her, our mother, Lydia, was clutching a handkerchief to her face, dabbing at nonexistent tears while gesticulating wildly to a tall, burly deputy.
"They brought law enforcement," I said, my pulse spiking as I watched my sister theatrically weep for her phone camera.
"Deputy Miller," Mr. Vance murmured, squinting at the monitor with quiet disdain. "Richard’s old high school drinking buddy. Miller has always been malleable when Richard waves a little cash or promises political favors."
Through the exterior microphone feed, Richard’s voice blared through the vault speakers, dripping with theatrical outrage.
"—my own daughter, Deputy! She’s mentally unstable, suffering from grief-induced psychosis! She locked herself inside my late father’s house, refusing to let his grieving son and wife in to collect our family heirlooms! She even threatened us with physical violence through the intercom!"
"He’s putting on a show," I said, disgust rising in my throat. "And Chloe is broadcasting it to the world."
"Let them perform," Mr. Vance replied calmly, checking his vintage gold pocket watch. "A public lie is an expensive debt that eventually comes due. But we cannot allow Miller to attempt a forced entry under the color of a 'welfare check.' That is their angle. If Miller declares you a danger to yourself, he can breach the front door without a warrant."
"Can he really do that?"
"Not legally under these circumstances, but by the time we sue him for an unlawful breach, Richard will have ransacked the upper house looking for the original title deeds," Mr. Vance said. "We go back up right now. Do not show fear, Clara. You hold the master deed, the registered trust, and the body of Arthur’s explicit will. They are trespassers demanding entry into a fortress."
We hurried back up the thirty-two concrete steps, securing the steel bulkhead behind us. Mr. Vance carefully padlocked the oak door at the top of the stairs, sliding the heavy brass key back into my coat pocket.
When we reached the foyer, the banging on the front door was loud enough to rattle the stained-glass transom windows above the lintel.
"Open the door, Clara!" Deputy Miller’s authoritative voice boomed from the porch. "This is the Mercer County Sheriff's Department! We have a report of a domestic disturbance and an individual in emotional distress. Open this door immediately or I will authorize forced entry!"
I took a deep breath, glancing at Mr. Vance, who gave me a slow, reassuring nod.
I didn't cower behind the wood. I reached out, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled the front door wide open.
The glare of afternoon sunlight hit my eyes, immediately followed by the blinding flash of Chloe’s smartphone camera shoved within inches of my nose.
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"There she is!" Chloe shrieked into her phone, her voice pitched high for dramatic effect. "Look at her, guys! Look at my disturbed sister! She literally slammed the door in our grieving parents' faces! Say hello to three hundred thousand people, Clara! Tell them why you're holding Grandpa’s body hostage!"
***
