Chapter 4 - THE WOODEN BIRD'S SECRET
The rain was coming down in sheets as we slipped out of the parking garage through the exhaust ventilation alley. I had left my phone, my purse, and my coat in the town car. All I had was the rusted brass key, the scratched wedding ring in my pocket, and the terrified little boy holding my hand.
We ran three blocks through the freezing downpour before I flagged down a yellow cab.
“Grand Central Station. The Vanderbilt entrance,” I told the driver, handing him the soggy hundred-dollar bill I had grabbed from the restaurant table earlier.
The cab sped through the neon-lit streets of Manhattan. I wrapped my arms around Ben, trying to stop his shivering. He clung to his blue cookie tin, the only thing he had left of his father.
“We’re going to get him back, Ben,” I promised, resting my chin on his wet hair. “I swear to you.”
We hurried into the echoing grandeur of Grand Central Station. At this hour, the massive concourse was nearly empty, filled only with the weary stragglers of the city.
We bypassed the main hall and headed down into the lower dining concourse, where the old, forgotten commuter lockers lined the tiled walls.
I found locker 714. It was rusted, covered in years of grime.
My hand shook as I slid the brass key into the slot. It turned with a heavy, protesting click.
I pulled the metal door open.
Inside sat a single, waterproof plastic sleeve. I pulled it out and unsealed it.
It was the original, unaltered deed and shares transfer document from my father. Not the forgery Charles had created.
I read the legal text, my breath catching in my throat. My father hadn't just left the company to Daniel and me. He had explicitly included a morality clause. If Charles was ever found guilty of corporate malfeasance, his minority shares were to be immediately surrendered to Daniel.
Answer one, open two. Charles didn't burn the house just to steal the company; he burned it because my father knew Charles was running illegal operations and used Daniel as the executioner of his will to stop him.
But there was a second signature on the document. A co-signer required to authenticate the transfer.
Marcus Vance.
My trusted Vice President of Operations. The man who had been my right hand for the last fifteen years. The man I had called from the cab on a borrowed phone ten minutes ago, asking him to send a clean security team to help me.
Reversal.
Marcus wasn't my ally. He was Charles’s inside man.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed on the tile floor behind us.
“Evelyn,” a deep voice called out.
I turned around.
Marcus stood at the end of the locker aisle. He was flanked by three men in dark raincoats.
“Marcus,” I said, my voice eerily calm as I shoved the document into the waistband of my skirt, hiding it under my blazer. “You found us quickly.”
“You called me from a cab company line, Evie. It wasn't hard to track the drop-off,” Marcus said, his face a mask of polite regret. “Charles called me. He told me you’re having a mental breakdown. Give me the boy, and let’s get you home.”
“You signed the original deed, Marcus,” I said, calling his bluff. “You knew Daniel was the rightful owner. Why did you help Charles burn my life to the ground?”
Marcus’s eyes hardened. “Because Daniel was a bleeding heart. He would have shut down the Zurich shipments. We make a billion dollars a year shipping unregulated pharmaceuticals, Evelyn. I wasn't going to let a carpenter ruin my fortune.”
He gestured to his men. “Take the boy. If she resists, sedate her.”
The men stepped forward.
Ben didn't wait. With the instincts of a boy raised on the run, he reached up and yanked the heavy red handle of the fire alarm on the wall beside the lockers.
A deafening siren erupted through the station. Strobe lights flashed, and the few commuters left in the concourse began screaming and running.
“Run!” Ben yelled.
We bolted down the narrow service corridor. Marcus cursed and chased after us.
I was fast, but I was in heels. Marcus tackled me from behind, sending us crashing into a stack of empty luggage carts.
Ben screamed, turning back to help me. He swung his metal cookie tin at Marcus’s head.
Marcus caught the tin mid-air. He ripped it from Ben’s hands and threw it violently against the brick wall.
The tin burst open. Cookies scattered across the dirty floor.
But the tin didn't just break. The false bottom shattered, revealing a hidden compartment.
A heavy, silver object rolled across the floor and stopped directly at Marcus’s feet.
It was a man’s silver pocket watch, heavily charred by fire.
Marcus froze. The anger in his eyes vanished, replaced by absolute, paralyzing horror.
May you like
He slowly bent down and picked up the burned watch. He popped the dented lid open. Inside was a faded picture of a young woman.
“Where…” Marcus choked, his voice trembling violently. “Where did you get my brother’s watch?”
