Chapter 12 - SECRETS IN THE ATTIC
My grip on the firearm tightened instantly.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said coldly.
"The federal authorities have searched every inch of this property."
"Everything is confiscated."
The scarred man chuckled softly.
It was an unpleasant sound, like dry leaves scraping across concrete.
"The feds know about the basement, Mr. Caldwell," he said, stepping closer to the door crack.
"They know about Sarah."
"They know about the trafficking ring."
"But they don't know about the safety deposit box hidden inside the third-floor east attic."
My pulse spiked.
"Why should I believe a word you're saying?"
The man reached into his trench coat pocket.
He slowly pulled out a heavy brass key and held it up to the peephole light.
Engraved on the handle were the initials *M.C.*
Margaret's initials.
"Margaret trusted me with her personal contingency stash," the man continued smoothly.
"Documents, offshore backup drives, and... let's call it insurance."
"Insurance against both Sarah and you."
"If the feds find it before I do, your entire corporate empire goes down in flames along with her criminal network."
"Why are you telling me this?" I demanded.
"Why not just take it to the authorities yourself?"
"Because the authorities don't pay cash, Mr. Caldwell," the man smiled coldly.
"I want five million dollars wired to an offshore account by midnight."
"In exchange, I hand over the key and the exact location of the box."
"If not... well, let's just say there are documents in that attic that could implicate you as Margaret's unknowing financial accomplice."
"And your company would never recover from the scandal."
Blackmail.
Pure, calculated corporate blackmail.
"You have until midnight," the man whispered, stepping backward into the shadows of the porch.
"I'll be in touch."
Before I could raise the chain and step outside, he turned and vanished into the darkness of the driveway.
I slammed the heavy door shut, throwing all three deadbolts into place.
My mind raced in a hundred different directions.
If there was another hidden stash in the attic, the feds missed it.
And if this blackmailer exposed corporate ties, even innocent ones, my entire life's work could crumble overnight.
I walked briskly back to the study.
Lena was waiting for me, her eyes wide with worry.
"Ethan? Who was at the door?" she asked.
"A ghost from Margaret's past," I said grimly, locking my firearm back into the desk drawer.
"He says there's a hidden vault in the attic."
"And he wants five million dollars to keep his mouth shut."
Lena gasped.
"What are we going to do?"
I walked over to the window, staring out into the dark, quiet estate grounds.
"We aren't paying him a dime," I said firmly, turning back to face her.
May you like
"We're going to the attic ourselves."
"Right now."
