Chapter 11: The Second Key

Maya leaned closer to the security guard's phone.

The image was grainy, blurred by the poor lighting in the hospital corridor, but the object in the man's hand was clear enough.

A brass key.

Beneath his fingers, three numbers were visible.

3-18.

Maya's hand went instinctively to the key in her own pocket.

3-17.

She looked at the image again.

One number apart.

That couldn't be a coincidence. Not after everything that had happened.

“Where is he now?” she asked.

The guard shook his head. “We lost him after he left the corridor.”

“Lost him?”

“He went through the stairwell. The camera there wasn't recording.”

Maya closed her eyes for a second.

Of course it wasn't.

Every time they found something useful, another piece disappeared.

She turned toward Julian. “You knew this would happen.”

“No.”

“You always seem to know more than you tell me.”

Julian's gaze remained on the phone. “I didn't know about the second key.”

“Then what do you know?”

He looked at the security guard.

“Give us a minute.”

The man hesitated. “Mr. Voss—”

“Outside.”

The guard nodded and stepped into the corridor.

The door closed.

Maya faced Julian.

“Talk.”

Julian rested one hand against the edge of the table. His expression was controlled, but she noticed the slight tension in his jaw.

“Your father used numbered keys.”

“I know about the key.”

“I'm not talking about one key. Your father used numbers to identify certain places and accounts. He kept things separate.”

Maya frowned. “How do you know that?”

“I've seen some of his records.”

“You told me you were investigating my father.”

“I was.”

The past tense caught her attention.

“Was?”

Julian looked down at the Emerson Trust document.

“Before tonight, I thought I understood what your father had been hiding.”

“And now?”

“I think I was wrong.”

That answer unsettled her.

Julian Voss wasn't a man who admitted to being wrong easily.

Maya pulled the brass key from her pocket.

“What does 3-17 open?”

Julian's eyes settled on it.

“It was used to access one of the secured storage locations connected to your father's records.”

“Which means?”

“It doesn't mean we know exactly what was inside.”

Maya frowned.

“But you've been there.”

“Yes.”

“The storage unit.”

“Yes.”

“And you cleared it.”

“I thought I did.”

The answer made her pause.

“You thought?”

Julian nodded.

“My people searched the unit four days ago. They found the obvious records and removed them. I believed that was everything.”

“But there was a hidden room.”

“Yes.”

“So your people missed it.”

“My people missed it.”

For once, there was no excuse in his voice.

Maya looked down at the key.

That explained how Julian could have cleared the unit and still been surprised by the hidden room.

It also made the situation worse.

Someone had been hiding things from a man who was already searching for them.

“What about 3-18?”

“I don't know what it opens.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Yes.”

Maya studied his face.

He wasn't dodging the question.

That frightened her more than a lie would have.

“What happens if we find it?”

“We find out why someone wanted you to have 3-17.”

“And if 3-18 belongs to my father?”

“Then we find out what he was trying to protect.”

Maya closed her fingers around the key.

Her father had disappeared years ago. Her mother was supposed to be dead. Julian's father had somehow been involved in their lives, and Whitfield knew enough about the family to frighten her.

Now another key had appeared.

“I want to find it.”

Julian straightened.

“So do I.”

“Then we do it tonight.”

“No.”

Maya's head snapped up.

“Why?”

“Because whoever carried that key into this hospital knows we're investigating.”

“That hasn't stopped us before.”

“It should.”

His voice was quiet.

Maya stepped closer.

“You keep telling me to trust you while you keep making decisions for me.”

“I've kept you alive.”

“You don't get to use that every time I disagree with you.”

Julian's expression tightened.

“I don't want you dead.”

The words came out sharper than he'd intended.

Maya stopped.

For a moment, neither spoke.

She could see the strain in his face now, the way his shoulders had stiffened beneath his coat. He wasn't trying to intimidate her.

He was genuinely afraid of what might happen if they got this wrong.

Maya looked away.

“Then help me understand what we're dealing with.”

Julian reached for the Emerson Trust document.

“There is something else.”

She looked back at him.

“What?”

He turned the document over.

Near the bottom, beneath a faded stamp, a handwritten number was barely visible.

318.

Maya stared at it.

Her eyes moved from the document to her key.

3-17.

Then to the photograph on the table.

3-18.

And now 318.

“What is that?”

“I don't know.”

“You're sure?”

“I'm sure I don't know what your father intended it to mean.”

Maya rubbed her thumb over the edge of the key.

“Could it be a room?”

“It could.”

“A safe?”

“Possibly.”

“A bank box?”

“Maybe.”

She gave him a tired look.

“You're very helpful.”

The corner of his mouth lifted.

“I'm trying.”

Before she could answer, his phone rang.

Julian glanced at the screen.

Something changed in his expression.

He answered.

“Voss.”

A man's voice came through.

“Sir, we've found something at the hospital.”

Julian's posture stiffened.

“Go on.”

“Someone accessed a restricted service corridor about twenty minutes ago. We checked the access logs.”

“Who?”

“We don't have a name.”

“Then what do you have?”

A pause.

“A room number.”

Maya stepped closer.

Julian looked at her.

“What room?”

“318.”

Neither of them moved.

Julian's voice remained steady.

“Is it occupied?”

“No, sir.”

“Has it been occupied recently?”

“Not according to the hospital records.”

“Send me the location.”

“I already did.”

The call ended.

Maya looked at him.

“Room 318.”

Julian nodded.

“My father wrote that number on the trust document.”

“And someone carrying 3-18 was seen here.”

“Yes.”

“In the same hospital where Danny is being treated.”

“We don't know whether the numbers are connected.”

“But you're going to find out.”

“Yes.”

Maya grabbed her bag.

“Then I'm coming.”

Julian caught her wrist.

“No.”

She pulled against his hand.

“Let go.”

“Listen to me.”

“I've spent my whole life listening to people tell me what I can't know.” Her voice shook. “My father disappeared. I was told my mother was dead. Someone broke into my hospital room. A stranger gave me a key. Now there's a room with the same number as the one written on my father's document, and you want me to stay behind?”

“I want you to stay alive.”

“Then come with me.”

Julian held her gaze.

For several seconds, neither moved.

Then his grip loosened.

“Fine.”

He released her.

“But you stay behind me.”

Maya adjusted her bag.

“I'm not promising that.”

“I wasn't asking.”

The hospital was quieter when they returned.

The daytime rush had disappeared. Most of the nurses' stations were empty, and the lights had been dimmed. Somewhere down the corridor, a monitor beeped steadily.

Maya glanced toward the elevators.

“Danny is still on the fourth floor?”

“Yes.”

She nodded.

That was one thing she could still hold on to.

Danny was safe.

Julian led her toward the stairs.

“Room 318 is on the third floor.”

Maya followed.

The number sat uneasily in her mind.

3-17.

3-18.

By the time they reached the third floor, she had stopped trying to convince herself that it was coincidence.

The corridor was empty.

Julian slowed.

“Stay close.”

Maya nodded.

They passed Room 314.

Then 316.

Room 318 was at the end of the corridor.

The door was closed.

There was no patient's name beside it.

No chart.

No sign that anyone had been using it.

Maya looked at Julian.

“This is it.”

He approached the door.

A small electronic keypad sat beside the handle. Beneath it was an older mechanical lock, almost hidden behind a metal cover.

Julian examined it.

“Old system.”

“Can you open it?”

“Probably.”

He reached for his pocket.

Maya stopped him.

“Wait.”

She pulled out the brass key.

Julian looked at it.

Maya looked at the lock.

“Maybe we've been assuming the wrong thing.”

“What?”

“Maybe 3-18 isn't what we're supposed to find.”

Julian's brow furrowed.

“Then what is?”

Maya inserted 3-17 into the mechanical lock.

“Maybe this is.”

She turned the key.

Click.

The lock released.

Julian stared at the door.

Maya pushed it open.

The room was dark.

Julian immediately stepped in front of her.

“Stay here.”

“No.”

“Maya.”

She moved around him.

The room smelled of dust and disinfectant. There was no hospital bed, no medical equipment, and no sign that a patient had ever been treated there.

Instead, there was a wooden desk, two metal filing cabinets, and a single chair facing the wall.

Maya looked around.

“This isn't a patient room.”

“No.”

Julian closed the door behind them.

Maya walked toward the desk.

Dust covered the surface except for one clean rectangle.

Something had been placed there recently.

A small black box.

She stopped.

“Julian.”

He came beside her.

Neither touched it.

A strip of paper had been taped across the lid.

Maya leaned closer.

Her stomach tightened.

The handwriting was unmistakable.

Her father's.

Four words were written across the label.

FOR MAYA. WHEN HE LIES.

Maya slowly turned toward Julian.

He had gone still.

“What does that mean?”

He didn't answer.

His gaze remained on the box.

Maya watched his face. His jaw tightened. His breathing changed, almost imperceptibly, and one hand curled slowly at his side.

She had never seen him react to anything like this.

“Julian?”

His eyes finally met hers.

“Don't touch it.”

“Why?”

He opened his mouth.

The lights went out.

Maya flinched.

Darkness swallowed the room.

She heard Julian move.

Then a man's voice came from somewhere behind them.

Low.

Close.

“Don't let him open the box.”

Maya's fingers closed around Julian's sleeve.

Her breath caught.

She knew that voice.

The same voice she'd heard through the burner phone.

The same man who had warned her that whatever her mother left behind was already gone.

Maya stared into the darkness.

“Whitfield?”