The receptionist stood up, looking terrified. “Mr. Vance? Is this your mother? She was just saying—”
“My mother is suffering from severe dementia, an advanced stage,” Matthew interrupted smoothly, his voice instantly shifting into that practiced, sympathetic tone he used for witnesses. He held up a piece of paper—a medical directive with my forged signature. “She had a panic attack at the airport and fled. She is a danger to herself. I’ve already called the private transport team. They are right outside.”
Through the glass doors, I saw a black, unmarked van pull up to the curb. Two large men in grey uniforms stepped out.
“No! He’s lying!” I screamed, backing away toward the security turnstiles. “He’s stealing my money! He’s trying to lock me away!”
“Mom, please, calm down,” Matthew said, holding his hands up as he advanced on me. “Let’s go to the car. The doctors will help you.”
“Stay away from me!” I yelled. I grabbed my carry-on bag and swung it with all my might. The heavy bag struck Matthew square in the face. He stumbled back, cursing, clutching his bleeding nose.
Using the distraction, I threw my weight against the security turnstile. It didn’t budge. I panicked, looking around wildly.
Beep.
Suddenly, the turnstile gate next to me clicked and swung open.
I looked up. Standing on the other side of the secure barrier was a woman in a lab coat, holding a keycard. But it wasn’t just any woman.
Beside her, holding her hand, was Lily.
My granddaughter had tears streaming down her face, but her grip on the woman’s hand was tight. The woman looked at me with fierce determination. “Run, Mrs. Vance! Get to the elevator! Go to the basement archives, now!”
“Lily?” I gasped.
“Go, Grandma!” Lily cried out.
Matthew roared in fury behind me, wiping blood from his lip as he lunged over the reception desk to bypass the gate. The two grey-uniformed men were already pushing through the front doors.
I didn’t think. I lunged through the open turnstile, my bad knee screaming in pain, and sprinted toward the open elevator at the end of the hall. I hit the button for the basement just as Matthew’s hand slammed against the closing elevator doors.
The metal doors shut with a heavy thud, cutting off his scream of rage.
The elevator began to descend into the bowels of the building. My hands were shaking so violently I could barely stand. Lily had brought someone to help me—the woman in the lab coat. But why the basement? The receptionist said the files were on the third floor.
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open.
The basement was completely dark, lit only by the flickering red glow of an emergency exit sign. The air was freezing, and the walls were lined with heavy, industrial vault doors. It looked less like a corporate archive and more like a subterranean prison.
As I stepped out into the shadows, the elevator behind me suddenly groaned. The digital display above the door began to change.
Someone upstairs had overridden the controls. The elevator was being called back up. And from the dark corridor ahead of me, I heard the heavy, echoing sound of footsteps walking slowly toward me.
A flashlight beam cut through the darkness, blinding me.
“Well, well,” a deep, unfamiliar voice echoed from behind the light. “Matthew said you might try to find the basement. But you’re too late, Mrs. Vance. The real contract isn’t upstairs. It’s down here. And you just walked right into it.”
I backed up against the wall, my heart stopping as the footsteps accelerated into a run.
