Chapter 5 - THE KEY IN THE SPINE
The pounding on the door was rhythmic, heavy enough to rattle the picture frames on Clara's walls.
My fever spiked, sending a wave of nausea through me, but the adrenaline cut through the haze.
“Is there a fire escape?” I asked Clara, keeping my voice down.
“It’s rusted shut,” she panicked, grabbing Leo. The boy woke up, rubbing his eyes, confused and frightened.
I looked at the heavy apartment door. The deadbolt was shaking. Whoever was out there had a crowbar.
I held the ledger tightly. It was the only proof I had that Marcus was the one stealing the money. If this thug got it, I was going to federal prison.
I ran to the tiny kitchen, grabbed a heavy cast-iron skillet from the stove, and stood out of sight behind the front door.
“When he breaks it, run to the bathroom and lock yourselves in,” I whispered to Clara.
She nodded, clutching Leo tightly.
CRACK.
The doorframe splintered. The wood gave way, and a massive man in a dark leather jacket shoved his way inside. He didn't even look around; his eyes locked immediately onto Clara.
“Hand it over,” he grunted.
I swung the skillet with every ounce of strength my fevered body possessed.
It connected with the back of his knee. The man roared in pain, buckling instantly to the floor.
“Run!” I screamed at Clara.
She bolted down the short hallway with Leo.
The man swore, scrambling to grab my ankle. I brought the heavy skillet down on his wrist. He let out a howl, rolling away.
I didn't wait to see if he would get back up. I bolted out the broken front door, sprinting down the narrow stairwell, my lungs burning.
I made it to my car, locked the doors, and slammed my foot on the gas.
I drove for twenty minutes until I was sure I wasn't being followed. I pulled into the empty parking lot of an all-night diner. The rain had started to fall, drumming heavily against the windshield.
I sat in the driver’s seat, shaking violently. I turned on the overhead dome light and opened the ledger.
I needed to see exactly how much Marcus had stolen.
As I flipped to the very back of the book, I noticed the leather spine was unusually thick. The binding was slightly torn.
I dug my fingernail into the tear and pulled.
A small object fell onto my lap.
It was a key. A long, vintage brass safe deposit key.
Stamped into the metal were the numbers 404.
I recognized it instantly.
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It was my late father’s safe deposit key from First National Bank. The one the police said was lost in the car crash that took his life five years ago.
How did Marcus get it?
