Chapter 9 - The Vault Beneath the Chapel
The sealed vault was located beneath the Ashford family chapel.
Vivian had attended weddings, memorials, and holiday services in that chapel without knowing that a fortified room existed below it.
Daniel arranged to inspect the vault with trust security and two police detectives.
Vivian insisted on going.
Ashford Manor remained under Thatcher’s control, but the chapel stood on separate trust property near the northern edge of the estate.
They arrived shortly before midnight.
Rain covered the stone path.
The chapel doors were unlocked.
“That is impossible,” Daniel said. “They require two electronic keys.”
A security officer examined the lock.
“It wasn’t forced.”
Inside, candles burned along the central aisle.
Fresh candles.
Someone had been there only minutes earlier.
Vivian walked between the wooden pews.
At the altar, a stone panel had been moved aside, revealing a narrow staircase.
Daniel motioned for the officers to proceed first.
The stairs descended into darkness.
At the bottom stood a steel door with a biometric scanner. A red warning light flashed above it.
ACCESS ATTEMPT FAILED
A security officer connected a diagnostic device.
“The scanner received a valid fingerprint pattern, but the tissue temperature was too low.”
“One of August Vale’s preserved prints?” a detective asked.
“Possibly.”
Vivian noticed something on the floor.
A drop of blood.
Then another.
The trail led behind a storage cabinet.
An officer moved the cabinet aside.
Dr. Leonard Price lay unconscious against the wall.
His coat was torn. His face was bruised, and one wrist was handcuffed to a pipe.
He was alive.
Paramedics were called.
Before they arrived, Price opened his eyes and recognized Vivian.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Who brought you here?”
He glanced toward the vault door.
“August.”
“August Vale?”
Price nodded weakly.
“He’s alive?”
“He never died.”
“Why did you say Thatcher gave Sabina the compound?”
“Because he did.”
Vivian knelt beside him.
“Did Thatcher know what it was?”
Price began shaking.
“He knew it would cause symptoms. I don’t know if he understood how dangerous it was.”
“Who ordered you to prepare it?”
“Beatrix.”
“Why?”
“To reopen Sable.”
Daniel crouched nearby.
“What does the vault contain?”
Price looked at him.
“The original research.”
Vivian shook her head.
“Alistair ordered it destroyed.”
“He lied.”
The words struck harder than she expected.
“Why?”
“To keep it away from August.”
“Then he hid it here?”
“Not only the research. The correction.”
“What correction?”
Price’s breathing became strained.
“Project Sable was not a failure. Vivian’s formula was incomplete because someone changed the trial samples.”
Vivian stared at him.
“Who changed them?”
“August Vale.”
Paramedics rushed down the stairs.
Before Price was carried away, he grabbed Vivian’s sleeve.
“Do not open the vault for Thatcher.”
“I would never help him.”
Price looked terrified.
“You already did.”
Then he lost consciousness.
The security team searched the chapel grounds.
No sign of August was found.
Tire tracks led toward a maintenance road, but rain had destroyed most identifying marks.
The vault remained closed.
Daniel examined the access log.
Someone had used August’s fingerprint pattern, Alistair’s old executive code, and a third credential registered to Vivian.
“My credential?” she asked.
“Your original laboratory identification.”
“I haven’t used it in nine years.”
“The system recognized it.”
“Then why didn’t the door open?”
“It requires proof that August Vale is dead or authorization from Sabina’s active guardian.”
Vivian looked toward the steel door.
“Which means me.”
Daniel nodded.
“Or Thatcher, if he regains custody.”
The custody battle, the poisoned medicine, and the dinner suddenly connected.
Thatcher did not merely need Vivian distracted.
He needed to establish her as unstable, regain sole guardianship, and use Sabina’s status to open the vault.
The Halcyon agreement was only one part of the plan.
They returned to the townhouse before dawn.
Sabina was asleep.
Vivian sat beside her bed and watched her breathe.
At seven in the morning, the doorbell rang.
Security found a small wooden box outside.
Inside was an old photograph of Alistair Ashford standing beside Vivian’s mother, Mara Ellis.
They appeared young.
Too close.
On the back, someone had written:
Ask Daniel why Alistair protected your bloodline.
Vivian carried the photograph downstairs.
Daniel’s face changed when he saw it.
“You knew,” she said.
“I knew there were rumors.”
“What rumors?”
“That Alistair and your mother had a relationship before you were born.”
Vivian’s hand tightened around the picture.
“Are you saying Alistair was my father?”
“I am saying the trust was written as if he believed you were his daughter.”
“Did Thatcher know?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop protecting this family.”
“I am trying to protect you.”
“By hiding my own identity?”
“By refusing to repeat a claim without proof.”
Vivian placed the photograph on the table.
“Then we get proof.”
Daniel hesitated.
“Alistair’s remains are in the family crypt.”
“Request a DNA comparison.”
“That would require committee approval.”
“Then call the committee.”
Before Daniel could respond, Sabina appeared on the stairs.
She was holding an envelope.
“Mom, this was under my pillow.”
Security searched the room immediately.
No one had entered through the door or windows.
Vivian opened the envelope.
Inside was a drawing made in black ink.
It showed a little girl standing beside a chapel.
Behind her stood a man with a scar near his ear.
May you like
At the bottom were five words.
Sabina can open the vault.
