Chapter 6 - The Vault on Eighty-Sixth Street
The rain had returned by the time the three black SUVs rolled up to the curb outside the West Side Savings Bank.
The building was an old stone structure built in the 1920s, featuring thick granite pillars, brass-trimmed doors, and a basement vault that had survived three economic depressions and two world wars.
Gabriel stepped out first, his umbrella held high, his eyes scanning the surrounding rooftops and traffic. Two armed guards took up positions near the main entrance, while another two remained in the lead vehicle with engines idling.
Julian stepped out second, holding the door for Evelyn.
She looked up at the grey stone facade of the bank, her heart thumping against her taped ribs. She hadn't been on a public street in over three weeks. The smell of wet asphalt, hot pretzel carts, and exhaust fumes felt almost overwhelming after days of total isolation.
"Stay close to me," Julian murmured, his hand settling lightly against the small of her back. He didn't push or pull her; he simply provided an anchor.
Inside, the bank was quiet, lit by warm yellow chandeliers hanging from high plaster ceilings. The bank manager, an older man named Mr. Henderson who had managed the Moretti family's private accounts for three decades, bowed nervously as he recognized Julian.
"Mr. Reed," Henderson stammered, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. "We... we were not expecting you today. Is there something wrong with the commercial accounts?"
"Not with mine, Mr. Henderson," Julian said smoothly. "Miss Vale is here to access box 408."
Henderson’s eyes darted toward Evelyn, recognizing her face instantly from the internal alerts Vincent had sent out across the city forty-eight hours ago. A small, nervous twitch developed beneath his left eye.
"Box 408... ah, yes," Henderson stuttered. "That box requires a dual key and secondary signature verification from Mr. Moretti's legal representatives—"
Gabriel stepped forward, leaning his heavy frame over the marble counter. "The girl has the key, Henderson. She has the death certificate of the primary holder. If you don't open that vault in ninety seconds, Julian is going to buy this bank by four o'clock and fire you before dinner."
Henderson went chalk white. "Right this way, please."
They descended the narrow spiral staircase into the cool, climate-controlled basement vault. The air down here smelled of ozone, old steel, and paper.
Henderson inserted his master key into box 408, Evelyn inserted her rusted iron key, and together they turned the mechanism. A heavy metallic clack echoed through the quiet room.
Henderson pulled the long metal safety deposit box out and placed it on a small viewing table before scuttling back to the door like a nervous crab.
Evelyn lifted the hinged lid.
Inside lay a single black leather notebook and a high-speed encrypted flash drive wrapped in anti-static plastic.
"This is it," Evelyn whispered, picking up the flash drive. "Forty years of names, off-shore account numbers, bribed judges, and unrecorded cash transfers. My father called it his insurance policy."
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Before Julian could reach for the drive, the emergency alarms inside the bank began to blare—a high-pitched, deafening screech that filled the stone vault.
Over the internal comms in Gabriel's ear, a voice barked: "Boss! We’ve got company! Two heavy vans just blocked the street—Moretti's men are coming through the main lobby!"
