Chapter 13 - The Midnight Vault
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The fight in the mud was brutal and chaotic. I took a heavy strike to my ribs from one of the enforcers, but the sudden wail of police sirens echoing down 19th Avenue scattered Victor’s men like rats. I had alerted my contact in the State Prosecutor’s office before leaving the house, gambling everything on their response time.
Victor scrambled back into his sedan as police cruisers swerved into the yard, their red and blue lights flashing against the wet shipping containers.
I sprinted to Irene, pulling a pocketknife from my belt and slicing through the thick ropes binding her wrists.
“Are you okay?” I choked out, pulling her tightly against my chest as she sobbed into my shoulder.
“I’m fine... I’m fine,” she gasped, clutching my torn shirt. “The key... Marcus, did you get the key?”
I reached down into the mud where I had thrown it, my fingers closing around the cold brass.
“We go to the bank now,” I said, helping her stand. “Before Victor’s lawyers can file an emergency injunction.”
Thirty minutes later, escorted by two armed state investigators, we stood inside the underground vault of First National Bank in downtown Phoenix. The room was lined with thousands of polished steel safety deposit boxes, freezing cold and dead quiet.
The bank officer inserted his master key into Box 408, then stepped back to allow me to turn the brass key.
Click.
The heavy steel drawer slid forward.
Inside lay three thick black leather binders, a stack of micro-cassette audio tapes, and a series of notarized financial ledgers stamped with the seal of offshore entities in Grand Cayman.
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Irene reached in and picked up the top tape cassette, labeled in my father’s distinct, precise handwriting: Victor Hale - Confessions & Payment Proof.
“He kept it all,” Irene whispered, tears welling in her eyes. “Your father knew they were going to kill him. He left the weapon right here.”
