Chapter 51: Locked In

"Mercer lives below," Damien read aloud.

The words hung over the studio like smoke.

Victor crouched beside the wall, studying the scratches beneath the charcoal.

"These marks are older than the message," he said.

"Months older."

"So whoever wrote this expected someone to cover it," Arthur added.

Victor nodded.

"Exactly."

"The charcoal wasn't the real message."

"It was camouflage."

I looked around my studio.

Every shelf.

Every cabinet.

Every stone I had cut with my own hands.

"Below what?" I asked.

"Below the studio?"

"Below Verline?"

"Or below us right now?"

Arthur unfolded the building's digital blueprints.

"The official plans show only two floors."

"Official plans," Victor repeated.

"Nathaniel stopped trusting official documents three years ago."

Damien walked toward the far wall where my polishing bench stood.

"When this building was renovated... they sealed an old basement."

"Why?"

"Flood damage," he answered.

"That's what I was told."

"Who told you?"

"The contractor."

"Who hired the contractor?" Victor asked.

Damien hesitated.

"Mother."

Silence settled over the room.

"Another coincidence," Victor muttered.

"I'm beginning to hate coincidences."

Arthur tapped rapidly across his keyboard.

"I've found the original planning application."

"Twenty-two years ago."

"There was definitely a lower archive level."

"Storage?" I asked.

"No."

"Private vaults."

Victor looked toward the floor.

"Find the entrance."

For nearly an hour they searched every room.

Nothing.

No hidden doors.

No loose floorboards.

No concealed switches.

Until Rose quietly spoke.

"Madam..."

"There's one room nobody checked."

Everyone turned toward her.

"Your old casting room."

"It hasn't been used since before the wedding."

I frowned.

"Because Damien locked it."

He looked genuinely confused.

"I never locked the casting room."

"Someone changed the keys after we married," I replied.

"I assumed it was you."

Damien slowly shook his head.

"It wasn't."

They crossed the corridor together.

The old casting room remained exactly as I remembered.

A heavy steel door.

No windows.

A thick brass lock.

Arthur examined it.

"New mechanism."

"Installed less than three years ago."

"Can you open it?" Victor asked.

"Give me five minutes."

It took three.

The lock clicked.

The steel door groaned inward.

Cold air drifted out.

The room was empty.

Dust covered every machine.

Broken moulds lay scattered across the floor.

"Nothing," Rose whispered.

"Look again," Victor replied.

His flashlight settled on the centre of the room.

A perfectly square section of concrete looked newer than everything around it.

"Fresh cement," Arthur said.

"Compared to the rest of the floor... about three years old."

"The same year Nathaniel died," I whispered.

Victor knocked against the concrete.

Solid.

Then against the edge.

Hollow.

"There's a cavity underneath."

"Can we lift it?" Damien asked.

"Not quietly."

"Then don't be quiet."

Arthur found a steel pry bar.

Together he and Damien forced it beneath the edge.

The slab resisted.

Then suddenly shifted.

A cloud of dust filled the room.

Below the concrete was a narrow iron staircase descending into darkness.

Nobody spoke.

Victor switched on a second flashlight.

"Stay behind me."

The staircase ended twenty feet below.

Concrete walls surrounded a hidden underground corridor.

The air smelled stale.

Untouched.

Except...

"Footprints," Arthur whispered.

Fresh footprints crossed the dusty floor.

"Someone's been down here recently."

The corridor ended at a thick steel security door.

Its electronic keypad was dark.

"No power," Arthur observed.

"Manual override?" Damien asked.

Victor pushed gently.

The door swung open.

Inside lay a vast underground archive.

Rows upon rows of steel shelving disappeared into darkness.

Thousands of boxes.

Thousands of files.

"This isn't Verline's storage," Rose whispered.

"No," Victor answered.

"This is a private records vault."

Arthur picked up the nearest archive box.

Its label had faded.

"Ashford Holdings... 1998."

Another.

"Board Minutes."

Another.

"Beneficiary Records."

Damien stared around the room.

"I've never seen this place before."

"Someone made sure you never would," Victor replied.

I wandered slowly between the shelves.

Most boxes remained sealed.

Untouched.

Then I stopped.

One shelf was completely empty.

Only a handwritten label remained.

"Mercer."

"The files are gone," I said.

Victor examined the dust.

"Recently."

"Within the last forty-eight hours."

"Someone knew we were getting close."

Arthur suddenly pointed toward the far wall.

"There's another door."

Unlike the first, this one stood half open.

Beyond it was a small office.

A wooden desk.

An old telephone.

A single desk lamp.

The bulb was still warm.

Everyone froze.

"Someone was here," Rose whispered.

"Very recently."

Victor approached the desk carefully.

Nothing.

No papers.

No computer.

Only a framed photograph lying face down.

He turned it over.

It showed three smiling people standing outside Ashford Holdings.

A much younger Eleanor.

Professor Julian Mercer.

And...

Victor Hayes.

Damien looked at Victor in disbelief.

"You knew him better than you've admitted."

Victor's face hardened.

"Yes."

"Because before Nathaniel hired me..."

"Julian Mercer was my business partner."

Before anyone could react, the heavy steel door behind them slammed shut.

The sound echoed through the underground vault.

Arthur ran back.

The handle wouldn't move.

"It's locked!"

At that exact moment, every light in the underground archive switched off.

Complete darkness swallowed the room.