Chapter 9

I stayed pressed against the guest‑room door, every muscle coiled tight, listening to the exchange out in the hallway. Ms. Hale’s voice stayed perfectly calm, the same steady tone I’d grown used to hearing around the penthouse — yet now every syllable felt like it might hide a secret. Caelum kept his replies measured, giving nothing away about the boathouse, the brass key, or Rowan’s voice memo.

“Alone?” he repeated carefully. “The retired officer insists I come without anyone else?”

“He says past attempts to talk were interrupted when associates accompanied him,” Ms. Hale explained smoothly. “He fears being watched. If you bring another person, he will cancel the meeting entirely.”

My stomach twisted. If she really was Diana’s old go‑between, this could be a trap meant to separate Caelum from me. But if she was innocent, the officer’s demand might be genuine. There was no easy way to tell.

“Let me consider it overnight,” Caelum said. “I’ll send you a decision first thing tomorrow.”

“Of course, sir.” Her heels clicked softly toward the kitchen. “I’ve left fresh documents about the board review on your desk.”

When her footsteps faded into her private office down the hall, Caelum slipped back into the guest suite and quietly shut the door behind him. His grey eyes were heavy with conflict.

“She’s giving us space to ‘decide’,” he murmured. “Either she truly believes this is a legitimate meeting… or she wants me to choose to go alone so later she can claim it was my own decision.”

I sat down beside the tablet, still showing the paused voice‑note from Rowan. “What if we split our plan? We still have the safety‑deposit box key. We could try visiting the bank tomorrow morning first, before any scheduled meeting. Then we can think about the officer.”

“Good thought — but we can’t both go openly. Diana’s surveillance teams watch bank branches linked to Vance accounts.” He paused, thinking it through. “I’ll head toward the meeting’s supposed location as a distraction, making it look like I’m preparing for that. You go to the central bank, using the alias we agreed on earlier, to open box 417. Bring whatever you find straight back here — do not call or text details along the way, just send one short ‘done’ signal once you’re safely home.”

Fear pricked my chest. “I don’t like us splitting up, not after everything we’ve learned.”

“Neither do I.” He reached out slowly, his fingers brushing my cheek for a heartbeat, then pulled back, that familiar flash of quiet apology crossing his face — still holding back, still afraid to let closeness become a distraction. “But right now separating might be our only way to avoid being fully controlled by whoever’s pulling strings.”

Late that night, we spread out notes across the dining‑room table: the brick‑hidden key, the warning note about Hale, the voice‑memo transcript, and the upcoming board review only four days away. If we could prove foul‑play behind his father’s death, Caelum could legally challenge Diana’s standing before the vote. If we found nothing… she would almost certainly win control of Vance Industries.

Just before dawn, my phone buzzed with an anonymous message: The bank box holds proof — but also a planted tracker. Be ready to remove it fast. Hale does not know the tracker exists; it was placed there by a separate third party.

We stared at the screen, confused. “A third player?” I whispered. “Not Diana, not Hale… someone else who’s been watching all along?”

Caelum nodded grimly. “That’s why nothing has ever added up cleanly. We thought there were two sides — us against Diana. There’s at least one more hidden player feeding us clues.”

Morning arrived grey and overcast. We dressed in ordinary, unremarkable clothing, no luxury accessories. Caelum left first in a rented car, heading toward the supposed meeting spot with the retired officer to draw watchers’ eyes. I waited twenty minutes, then took a regular public bus to Central Bank.

Inside the busy main branch, I gave the receptionist my prepared alias and showed the brass key. Once verified, a guard led me to the secure vault wing. Box 417 was a medium‑sized metal case. When I unlocked it, I found three items: a sealed envelope containing printed photos of the highway crash scene, a folded handwritten witness statement… and a tiny, slim silver disc tucked beneath the paper — exactly the tracker the unknown messenger had warned about.

My hands shook as I carefully pried the disc loose and slipped it into a small sealed plastic pocket I’d brought. I put the photos and statement into my shoulder bag, closed the box, and walked calmly back out of the bank. I sent only one short text: done.

But before I could reach the bus stop, a black sedan pulled slowly up beside the sidewalk. The rear window rolled down — and there sat Ms. Hale, her usual composed expression replaced by a sharp, weary look I’d never seen before.

“Zara,” she said quietly. “Please get in. We need to talk — before someone else finds you first.”

My heart raced. Had she followed me? Was she about to turn me over to Diana? Or was there another truth she’d been hiding all these years?