Chapter 8 - THE ROSARY
The tempered glass shattered inward, showering the driver’s seat in thousands of tiny, glittering cubes.
I threw my arms up to shield my face, screaming as Richard reached through the broken window. His hand fumbled frantically for the internal door lock.
“Don't!” I yelled, kicking wildly at his arm.
“Stop fighting, Megan!” Richard grunted, his face contorted in panic. “Claire said if I bring the boy back, I get promoted to regional director. Just give me the kid!”
“Are you insane?!” I screamed, grabbing his wrist and digging my nails in. “You’re committing a felony for a hotel promotion!”
Richard managed to pop the lock. The door swung open, and he grabbed my shoulder, trying to drag me out of the seat so he could get to the back.
Leo was screaming, curled in a ball on the floorboards.
I fought with everything I had. I punched, I scratched, but Richard was bigger and desperate. He yanked me by my jacket, pulling me halfway out of the car.
Suddenly, a massive figure materialized from the darkness.
A hand grabbed the collar of Richard’s suit and yanked him backward with such violent force that Richard flew off his feet, crashing onto the gravel driveway.
Grant stood there, breathing like a bull. His tuxedo jacket was gone, his shirt sleeves rolled up.
Before Richard could scramble to his feet, Grant planted a heavy boot squarely on his chest, pinning him to the ground.
“You ever touch her again,” Grant snarled, his voice vibrating with a primal rage, “I won’t just take your job. I’ll make sure you can’t walk for a year.”
Richard whimpered, dropping the flashlight. “She made me do it, Mr. Mercer! Claire called me! She said you were breaking into the house!”
Grant reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver chain. Dangling from the end of it was a small, ornate key with the number 804 engraved on it.
He had it.
“Tell Claire,” Grant said coldly, stepping off Richard, “that I have the key. And I’ll see her at the bank on Monday.”
Grant grabbed my arm, helping me shake the glass off my clothes. “Are you okay? Is Leo safe?”
“We’re fine,” I gasped, shaking violently. “Let’s get out of here.”
We left Richard coughing in the dirt. Grant jumped into the driver’s seat, ignoring the broken window, and sped out of the estate. The cold wind howled through the car as we drove back toward the city.
“You got it,” I said, looking at the key gleaming in the console.
“He kept it in a safe behind a painting in his study,” Grant said, his hands tight on the wheel. “He never expected me to know the combination. But Claire used it once to get her passport. Her mother’s birthday.”
“So we won?” I asked, daring to feel a sliver of hope.
Grant’s face was grim. “Not yet. We have the key, but we don't have the ledger. We can’t get into the bank until Monday morning. That gives Thomas and Claire thirty-six hours to move the ledger, freeze my accounts, or send the police after us for stealing the key.”
He was right. The key was useless until the bank opened.
“Where do we go?” I asked. “We can’t go to your house. They know we’ll be there.”
“We go to the only place they won’t look,” Grant said.
An hour later, we pulled up to the rear entrance of a small, dimly lit Catholic church in the oldest part of the city. St. Jude’s.
Grant carried a sleeping Leo inside. The church was empty, smelling of old wax and incense. Sitting alone in the front pew, staring up at the stained glass, was Arthur.
He stood up when he heard our footsteps.
“Dad,” Grant said softly.
Arthur rushed over, tears in his eyes, and wrapped his arms around both Grant and Leo.
“I told Father Thomas we needed sanctuary for the night,” Arthur whispered. “He owed me a favor from twenty years ago. There are cots in the rectory basement. Nobody knows we’re here.”
We went down to the basement. It was small, warm, and safe. Grant laid Leo on a cot and tucked him in.
I sat at a small wooden table, rubbing my arms to get warm. Arthur sat across from me and slid a cup of hot tea across the table.
“You’re a brave woman, Megan,” Arthur said kindly.
“I’m just a waitress,” I said, staring at the tea. “And I don't even have that job anymore.”
“You’re much more than that,” Grant said, walking over. He pulled out a chair and sat next to me. He reached into his pocket and pulled out something I hadn't seen him pick up.
He laid it on the table.
It was my silver charm bracelet.
“I found it on the floor of the office at Bellamy House,” Grant said softly. “Before Claire picked it up and threatened you with it. I saw you looking at it earlier.”
I touched the cold silver. A tear slipped down my cheek.
“My sister gave it to me,” I whispered. “Before she died. She made me promise to look after Toby. I’ve been saving every penny I make as a waitress to hire a lawyer to get custody of him. That’s why I was so scared when Claire threatened me. If I lose Toby, I lose everything.”
Grant looked at me, his expression softening into something incredibly tender.
“You won’t lose him,” Grant promised. “When this is over, I’ll hire the best family lawyers in the country. You’ll have Toby back before Christmas. That’s a promise.”
I looked into his eyes and saw absolute truth. For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel alone.
But our moment was broken by a soft, rhythmic clicking sound.
Arthur was sitting quietly, rolling a set of wooden rosary beads through his fingers. He looked troubled.
“Dad?” Grant asked. “What is it?”
Arthur stopped moving the beads. He looked at the silver key sitting on the table.
“There’s a problem, Grant,” Arthur said heavily. “Thomas Whitmore didn't get to where he is by being careless. If you took that key from his safe, he already knows it’s missing.”
“So? He can’t get into the box without it.”
“He doesn't need the key to get into the bank,” Arthur said, leaning forward. “Thomas is on the board of directors for First National. He has VIP access. He can call the bank manager right now, demand an emergency drill, and have a locksmith drill the box open before the sun comes up.”
Grant’s face fell. “He would do that?”
“To keep himself out of federal prison? He’ll burn the entire bank down.”
I felt the hope drain out of the room. We had fought so hard, but Thomas was always one step ahead.
“Then we have to get into the bank tonight,” I said.
Grant shook his head. “Impossible. The vault is on a time lock. Even if we broke in, the vault door doesn't electronically release until 9:00 a.m. Monday.”
We sat in silence. The ticking of the basement clock sounded like a countdown to our doom.
Suddenly, Arthur stood up. He walked over to his old brown coat, reached into the pocket, and pulled out his heavy silver pocket watch. The one with the dent in it.
He placed it on the table next to the key.
“There is one way,” Arthur said slowly. “Twenty years ago, when Thomas and I bought the Bellamy House land, we didn't just use regular bank accounts. We used a private depository for high-value clients. First National owns it, but it’s an off-site facility.”
Grant frowned. “Off-site? Where?”
May you like
Arthur looked at me.
“Underneath Bellamy House,” Arthur said. “In the sub-basement. Thomas built a private vault there to hide his illicit cash before the merger. Box 804 isn't at the main bank. It’s right under Claire’s nose.”
