Chapter 4 - The Ledger in the Wall“We can’t let them file those papers,” I said, attempting to stand up from the sofa. A sharp spike of pain shot through my ankle, making me stumble, but Vance caught my arm before I fell.
“You can’t go downtown like this, Sarah,” Vance said firmly. “If Mark Reynolds sees you alive right now, they won't try to make it look like an accident next time.”
“They don't have the real ledger,” I insisted, clutching his arm. “Richard gave me something four days before he died. A heavy brass key hidden inside an antique clock in our bedroom. He told me never to open the iron box in the study unless I was in mortal danger. That box is still inside the main cabin on Miller’s Ridge!”
Vance’s eyes narrowed. “Evan is probably searching the cabin right now.”
“He doesn't know where the box is,” I said, my voice growing steady despite the fear clutching my chest. “Richard built a secret compartment behind the stone hearth in the study. Only Richard and I knew how the spring mechanism works. If Evan finds it first, he’ll burn the real records and use his forged documents to claim everything.”
Vance stared at me for a long moment, evaluating the risk. Then he nodded slowly.
“We go to the cabin,” Vance said. “We get the ledger. But we do it quietly.”
Twenty minutes later, we were back in Vance’s truck, driving without headlights along a forgotten fire road that wound up the backside of Miller’s Ridge. The rain had softened into a steady, freezing drizzle. The tall pine trees loomed over us like dark sentinels.
We parked two hundred yards behind the Walker cabin. The sprawling log mansion sat shrouded in darkness, save for a single amber light flickering through the tall windows of the first-floor study.
Vance pulled a dark tactical pistol from his shoulder holster, checked the magazine with a smooth click, and handed me a small pocket flashlight.
“Stay behind me,” he whispered. “If anything goes wrong, you run back to the truck and drive straight to the federal building in Knoxville. Understand?”
“I’m not leaving without the truth, Major,” I whispered back.
We crept through the dense woods toward the back porch. Through the glass doors of the study, I could see Evan. He was tearing through bookshelves, pulling down leather-bound volumes, dumping desk drawers onto the rug in a frenzy of destruction.
Beside him stood an older man in a tailored dark suit—Mark Reynolds, the county coroner.
“It has to be in here!” Evan shouted, his voice carrying through the thick glass. “The old man said everything was in the study!”
“Calm down!” Mark snapped, pulling a flask from his coat and taking a sip. “The bitch is dead at the bottom of the ravine. Once the clerk stamps these probate documents at midnight, it doesn't matter if we have the physical ledger or not. The court will recognize her absence as abandonment or death.”
“I want the offshore accounts, Uncle Mark!” Evan snarled, slamming a wooden box against the fireplace mantle. “Fourteen million dollars! You promised me half!”
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Standing in the shadows outside, my breath hitched. Fourteen million. It was twice as much as Vance had estimated.
Vance nudged my shoulder, gesturing toward the low cellar door on the side of the house. We slipped down the stone steps, entirely unnoticed by the two men arguing inside.
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