Chapter 3 - The Secret Safe
We returned to Emily’s house—or rather, the house she was forced to maintain under strict rules that dictated where she could walk, which rooms she could clean, and how she could live. Victor’s abrupt arrest meant we had a brief window before his defense lawyers or corporate cronies tried to sweep his private office clean of evidence.
The house was cold, minimalist, and devoid of any warmth. Every piece of furniture looked like it belonged in a high-end corporate showroom rather than a home where a family lived. Emily unlocked the front door with trembling fingers, flicking on the hallway lights.
“I always felt like a guest here,” Emily whispered, looking around the sterile foyer. “Victor insisted on white marble floors. If I tracked in a single drop of rain, he would make me clean it with a toothbrush while screaming about how careless I was.”
“Well, you won’t have to worry about cleaning marble anymore,” I said firmly, walking toward Victor’s private study at the back of the house. “Where is his personal safe?”
“Behind the mahogany bookshelf,” Emily replied, following closely behind me. “He kept the combination locked away. Only he knew it.”
“Not quite,” I smiled faintly. “Victor was arrogant, but he was also predictable. Men who build their lives on deceit always rely on birthdays, anniversaries, or vanity numbers.”
I walked over to the heavy mahogany bookcase. Victor’s study smelled of expensive scotch, leather, and paranoia. On the wall hung a massive, framed photograph of Victor receiving an award from the city’s chamber of commerce—an award he had undoubtedly bought with embezzled funds.
I reached out and pressed the corner of the picture frame. With a soft click, the bookshelf swung inward, revealing a heavy digital safe embedded in the concrete wall.
Emily gasped. “I lived here for five years, and I never knew that was there.”
“Abusive men always keep a secondary world hidden from their victims,” I said, stepping up to the keypad. “Now, let’s see how smart my brilliant son-in-law really is.”
I typed in Lorraine’s birthday. The red light flashed. Incorrect.
I tried the anniversary date of their wedding—the very anniversary he had been celebrating by abusing her. Red light flashed again. Incorrect.
“Think, Mom,” Emily urged nervously. “Is there anything else?”
“Think about his ego, Emily,” I murmured. What does a narcissist love more than anything else in the world? Himself. Specifically, his own reflection and his primary triumph.
I looked at the framed certificate on his desk: Victor Sterling, CEO of Sterling Ventures, founded on October 12th.
I cleared the keypad and typed in the numbers representing his personal corporate registration code, combined with his high school football jersey number—a relic of past glory he constantly bragged about.
*Beep-beep-click.*
The green light flashed, and the heavy steel door of the safe swung open smoothly.
Emily let out a sharp breath. “You actually opened it!”
“Arrogance is a safe’s worst enemy,” I said, pulling open the door. Inside, there were no bundles of physical cash, but there were stacks of burner phones, external hard drives, holographic flash drives, and a thick velvet jewelry box.
I opened the velvet box. Inside lay not just the diamond bracelet Lorraine had been flaunting, but dozens of high-end luxury watches, rare gold coins, and—most importantly—multiple passports under different names with Victor’s photograph.
“He was planning to run,” Emily whispered, her voice shaking as she stared at the fake passports. “If things went south at the firm, he was going to abandon me and flee the country.”
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“Yes, he was,” I said gravely, slipping the flash drives and passports into my leather bag. “And these files are going to ensure he never sees freedom again.”
Just as I zipped my bag, the front door downstairs clicked open, followed by heavy footsteps echoing up the marble staircase. Someone had just entered the house.
