Chapter 7 - THE EXCAVATION SITE
The heavy mahogany door shuddered as Vanessa kicked it from the hallway, screaming curses that echoed off the peeling wallpaper.
"We don't have time," Marcus said, looking around the dark, destroyed hotel room. "There's a fire escape outside the window. It drops into the alley. If we move fast, we can beat her men to the ground floor."
Lorenzo didn't hesitate. He grabbed the heavy wooden chair that lay broken on the floor and smashed it against the thick glass of the window. The cold Chicago wind instantly howled into the room, bringing the smell of rain and exhaust.
"Go, Mom," Lorenzo urged, helping me over the jagged sill onto the rusted iron fire escape.
We climbed down the iron stairs in absolute silence, the storm masking the sound of our descent. By the time we hit the wet pavement of the alley, Vanessa was still pounding on the door four stories above us.
Marcus had parked his car in the service lot. We piled into the sleek sedan, the engine roaring to life before the doors were even fully closed.
"The Vance Tower foundation," Marcus said, gripping the steering wheel as he sped into the slick city streets. "Arthur Vance poured the concrete for that skyscraper twenty-three years ago. It’s been standing ever since."
"But it's not standing anymore," Lorenzo said, his voice tight. He looked at me from the passenger seat. "Vanessa’s company went bankrupt last year. They sold the Vance Tower to a development firm. They’re demolishing it. The demolition started yesterday."
My blood ran cold.
If the demolition crew dug up the foundation, they wouldn't just find the briefcase. They would find Richard’s body. Vanessa knew this. That’s why she orchestrated the dinner tonight. She needed to trap us, frame us, or kill us before the police found the remains and traced the blackmail back to her father.
"We have to get there before the police do," I said.
Marcus pushed the sedan to its limits, weaving through the late-night traffic.
We arrived at the construction site on the South Side just as the rain began to fall in heavy, freezing sheets.
The site was a massive crater of mud, twisted rebar, and broken concrete. Towering yellow excavators sat idle in the dark like dormant dinosaurs. The Vance Tower had been reduced to a mountain of rubble, and deep in the center of the pit, massive floodlights illuminated the exposed foundation.
But we were too late.
Flashing red and blue lights cut through the rain. A perimeter of police tape had already been erected around the deep foundation pit.
"The police are already here," Marcus swore, hitting the brakes.
We got out of the car, standing at the edge of the chain-link fence, the rain soaking through our expensive clothes.
Down in the pit, a team of forensic officers in white suits were carefully brushing mud away from a massive, rusted steel drum that had been encased in the concrete foundation.
My knees gave out. Lorenzo caught me, his strong arms holding me up against the fence.
"They found him," I sobbed, the reality of my husband's brutal end finally crashing down on me. I hadn't loved Richard in the end, but the horrific indignity of his death broke my heart.
One of the forensic officers pried the lid off the rusted steel drum.
Even from fifty yards away, I could see the flash of camera bulbs illuminating the skeletal remains inside.
But as the officer reached into the drum, he didn't just pull out bones.
He pulled out a heavy, waterlogged leather briefcase.
"The briefcase," Lorenzo whispered, his eyes wide. "He had it with him when they buried him."
The lead detective standing by the pit took the briefcase. He placed it on a folding table under a portable tent, pulling on latex gloves. The leather was ruined, the locks rusted shut. The detective used a heavy crowbar to pry the clasps open.
Marcus stood beside me, his hands gripping the chain-link fence so hard his knuckles were bleeding.
"If that briefcase contains the blackmail on Arthur Vance," Marcus said, his voice shaking with a dangerous, desperate hope, "then Vanessa is finished. Her family's legacy is destroyed, and the police will know her father was the murderer."
The detective opened the briefcase.
He pulled out a thick stack of waterlogged, moldy documents sealed in a plastic evidence bag. He held them up to the floodlight, examining the top page.
Even through the rain, I saw the detective’s posture change. He stiffened. He yelled something to his partner, pointing frantically at the documents.
Lorenzo frowned, squinting through the storm.
"Mom," Lorenzo said, his voice dropping into a hollow, terrifying whisper. "Look at the briefcase."
I wiped the rain from my eyes and looked at the folding table.
The floodlight caught the tarnished brass plate mounted near the handle of the ruined leather briefcase.
The initials stamped into the brass were large and unmistakable.
A. V.
Arthur Vance.
"That's not Dad's briefcase," Lorenzo realized, stepping back from the fence, horror dawning on his face. "That's Arthur Vance's briefcase."
My mind spun furiously, trying to piece the impossible puzzle together.
If Richard had been buried with Arthur Vance's briefcase... then the documents inside didn't incriminate Arthur.
They incriminated Richard.
"Arthur wasn't the one being blackmailed," I gasped, the entire narrative inverting with sickening clarity. "Richard was the one blackmailing Arthur. Richard had the evidence, and he was extorting Arthur for the ten million dollars."
Marcus went completely still beside me.
"Uncle Marcus," Lorenzo said slowly, turning to look at his uncle. "If Arthur Vance murdered my father... why would he bury his own blackmail documents in the grave with him?"
Marcus didn't look at Lorenzo. He stared blankly into the muddy pit.
"Arthur Vance didn't murder your father," Marcus whispered, the truth finally tearing its way out of his throat.
May you like
Marcus turned to me, tears streaming down his weathered face.
"I did, Eleanor."
