Chapter 6 - THE ROSARY
The service entrance to the Waldorf Astoria smelled of expensive bleach and old brick.
We had abandoned the highway, slipping through the shadows of Midtown while sirens wailed in the distance, responding to our crashed SUV.
Victor moved with a quiet, lethal grace, leading us through a maze of underground delivery corridors. He knew the building intimately. Men like Victor DeLuca always knew the exits before they walked through the front doors.
“The vault entrance is past the boiler room,” Victor whispered, keeping his gun drawn and pointed at the floor.
He stopped near a small, dingy laundry room.
“Mrs. Gable,” Victor said. “Take the boy inside here. Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone but Anna or me.”
“Mommy, I’m scared,” Leo whimpered, clinging to my torn skirt.
I knelt down, tears burning my eyes. I pulled Victor’s heavy cashmere coat tighter around me, feeling entirely out of my depth.
“I know, baby,” I said, kissing his forehead. “But Mommy has to do something very brave so we can go home. Stay with Mary. I’ll be right back.”
I stood up. Victor nodded to Mrs. Gable, who ushered Leo inside and locked the heavy steel door.
We moved deeper into the basement. The distant, muffled bass of the orchestra playing in the grand ballroom floors above vibrated through the concrete walls.
Hundreds of billionaires were drinking champagne upstairs, completely unaware that a war was happening beneath their feet.
We reached a heavy, polished steel door marked with a discreet gold plaque: Manhattan Vaults - Private Access.
Beside the door was a biometric scanner and a brass keyhole.
“Give me your hand,” Victor said.
I placed my trembling hand on the glass scanner. A red light washed over my palm.
BEEP.
A green light flashed. David had put me in the system.
Victor slid the brass key into the lock and turned it. The heavy door clicked open with a pneumatic hiss.
We stepped into the vault.
It wasn’t a room of safety deposit boxes. It was a singular, massive room lined with polished mahogany shelves. In the center sat a single glass display case holding an old, leather-bound ledger.
“The shipping logs,” Victor breathed, a terrifying triumph in his eyes. “David’s final gift.”
I walked toward the glass case, reaching out to take the ledger.
“I wouldn’t touch that, Anna.”
The voice didn’t belong to Victor.
I froze.
From the shadows behind the mahogany shelves stepped Richard Caldwell.
He was sixty, immaculately dressed in a tailored tuxedo, his silver hair perfectly coiffed. He held a suppressed pistol in his hand, pointed directly at Victor’s chest.
Behind Caldwell stood Ethan, sneering at me.
“How did you know we’d come here?” Victor demanded, stepping in front of me to shield my body.
“Thomas had a panic button on his watch,” Richard Caldwell smiled smoothly. “When the car crashed, I assumed you’d figure out the Wall Street entrance was compromised. You always were clever, Victor. But not clever enough.”
“You’re finished, Richard,” Victor said. “The FBI has enough circumstantial evidence. With that ledger, they’ll bury you.”
Richard laughed. It was a cold, empty sound.
“They won’t find the ledger, Victor. Because you broke in here tonight to steal it, and tragically, you and your brother’s widow killed each other in a dispute over the family assets.”
Richard raised his gun.
But Victor didn’t flinch.
“You think David just left a book of numbers?” Victor mocked. “David was smarter than both of us. If anything happens to Anna, a dead-man’s switch activates. Copies of that ledger go to the press, the FBI, and the cartel you’ve been stealing from.”
Richard’s smile faltered. Ethan shifted nervously.
“He’s lying, Dad,” Ethan said.
“Am I?” Victor challenged.
Richard’s eyes narrowed. He looked at me, assessing my fear.
“Let’s test that theory,” Richard said.
He didn’t aim at Victor. He aimed his gun directly at my head.
“Tell me where the digital copies are, Anna,” Richard demanded.
“I don’t know!” I cried, terrified.
Richard cocked the hammer. “Wrong answer.”
Victor moved instantly, raising his own weapon.
But before a shot could be fired, my eyes caught something hanging from Ethan’s left wrist as he reached into his jacket.
A silver chain.
Dangling from the chain was a beautiful, ornate silver rosary.
My breath caught in my throat.
“Wait,” I gasped.
Everyone stopped.
I stared at the rosary.
I recognized it. It wasn’t David’s.
It was Victor’s.
When Victor had draped his coat over my shoulders at the restaurant, I had seen a silver rosary peeking out of the inner lining pocket. I hadn’t thought anything of it.
But now, Ethan Caldwell was wearing it.
How did Ethan get Victor’s rosary?
“Where did you get that?” I whispered, pointing at Ethan’s wrist.
Ethan smirked, looking down at the cross.
“This?” Ethan sneered. “I picked it up off the bridge the night your husband died. A little souvenir.”
The room went dead silent.
I looked at Victor.
May you like
Victor’s face was completely unreadable.
“Victor,” I said, my voice shaking violently. “If Ethan found your rosary at the crash site… why were you there?”
