Chapter 11 - THE LOCKER AT THE MUSEUM
Harris stood by his cruiser, fixing his uniform tie.
He was in his late sixties, impeccably groomed, with eyes like flat grey stones.
He didn't look like a dirty cop. He looked like the law.
“Lock the doors,” Luca ordered, his voice echoing through the foyer.
Marco hit the security override. Heavy steel shutters slammed down over the ground-floor windows.
“He can't just raid this house without a warrant,” I panicked, gripping the back of my father’s wheelchair.
“He doesn't need a warrant if he claims exigent circumstances,” Luca said, pulling his weapon. “He knows we found the box. He’s here for the transcripts.”
My dad grabbed my hand. “You have to get to the museum, Emma. If Harris gets that key, your mother died for nothing.”
“I’m not leaving you here!”
“He won't touch me with Marco and his men here,” my dad insisted. “Go with Luca. Finish this.”
Luca looked at Marco. “Hold the house. Don't let them in.”
Marco racked his shotgun. “They’re not taking another step, boss.”
Luca grabbed my hand. “The service tunnels. Now.”
We ran. Down through the wine cellar, into the old prohibition tunnels beneath the estate.
The air was damp and cold. We sprinted in the dark, the flashlight beam bouncing wildly off the brick walls.
Answer one. Open two.
We had the key. But how did Harris know we found the box so quickly?
“Vanessa,” Luca realized, his breath echoing in the tunnel.
“What?”
“She made a plea deal,” Luca said grimly. “She must have traded the information about my father’s storage unit to Harris in exchange for leniency.”
Reversal.
Vanessa’s betrayal of her father wasn't for justice. It was just another transaction.
We emerged from the tunnel exit two miles away, in a secluded alley near the river.
Luca had a secondary car stashed there. A nondescript gray sedan.
We sped through the city, blending into the morning traffic.
The Field Museum was just opening its doors. Tourists and school groups were already flooding the massive marble steps.
We walked briskly through the grand hall, past the towering dinosaur skeletons, keeping our heads down.
“The old lockers are in the basement level,” I whispered, remembering the layout from when I was a child.
We took the stairs down.
The hallway was quiet, lined with rows of dented, olive-green metal lockers that looked like they hadn't been replaced since the 1990s.
I found number 42.
My hands shook violently as I inserted the small metal key.
It turned.
I pulled the door open.
Inside, sitting on the dusty metal shelf, was a thick, sealed manila envelope.
I reached for it.
“I’ll take that, Emma.”
I froze.
Standing at the end of the locker aisle were two men in plainclothes. Detectives.
They had their badges out, but their hands were resting on their holstered weapons.
“Commissioner Harris sends his regards,” the taller detective said.
Before Luca could draw his weapon, the detective pulled his, aiming it directly at my chest.
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“Slide the envelope across the floor, or she dies right here.”
TITLE: THE FINAL VERDICT
