Chapter 5 - The Trap in the StudyThe cellar was cold and smelled of damp earth and old cedar. Vance used his penlight to guide us past stacks of dusty wine crates and old furniture until we reached the small wooden staircase leading directly up into the floor space behind the study’s hearth.
I pointed to a small bronze lever concealed behind a water pipe near the ceiling.
“That controls the back panel of the fireplace,” I whispered.
Vance reached up, grabbing the lever. He looked at me, giving a silent three-second countdown with his fingers. Three... two... one.
He pulled the lever.
Deep within the stone chimney, a heavy iron counterweight clicked. A two-foot stone panel beside the fireplace in the study slid open with a low, grinding sound.
Above us, the voices instantly stopped.
“What the hell was that?” Evan’s voice barked from above.
“Look!” Mark whispered hoarsely. “The wall... behind the hearth!”
We heard heavy footsteps rushing across the hardwood floor toward the open compartment.
“It’s the iron box!” Evan exclaimed, his voice high with greedy excitement. “The old man hidden it right in the chimney!”
Vance didn't hesitate. He kicked open the cellar door leading up into the study, stepping into the dimly lit room with his firearm raised and leveled directly at Mark Reynolds’ chest.
“Hands where I can see them!” Vance commanded, his voice ringing out like a thunderclap in the enclosed room. “Both of you! Step away from the hearth!”
Mark Reynolds froze instantly, his face turning pale in the dim light of the desk lamp. He slowly raised his hands into the air.
Evan, however, spun around with a look of utter madness in his eyes. He was holding a small, heavy iron box he had just pulled from the wall.
When his eyes landed on me standing behind Vance, supported by a wooden cane I had grabbed from the cellar, his jaw dropped in horror.
“You...” Evan choked out, stumbling back against the mantle. “You’re dead! I saw the car crush you! You were pinned!”
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“I survived, Evan,” I said, stepping into the light, my voice cold and firm. “Just like I survived the three years you spent trying to drive me out of this house.”
“You ruined everything!” Evan screamed. In a flash of hysterical rage, he didn't reach for a weapon—he lunged toward the roaring wood stove in the corner of the room, preparing to throw the iron box into the white-hot embers to destroy whatever was inside.
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