Chapter 11 - The Piano’s Secret
The front door was secured with a heavy chain and padlock. Julian reached into the truck bed, pulled out a pair of industrial bolt cutters, and snipped the steel links with a single, sharp crunch.
""Hurry,"" Clara whispered, looking nervously up and down the desolate street.
Inside, the house smelled of damp carpet, old paper, and stale memories. The living room was stripped of furniture, except for a heavy upright upright mahogany piano pushed against the far corner, too heavy for the liquidation movers to haul easily.
Clara ran her fingers across the dusty, yellowed keys. A faint, dissonant chord echoed through the empty rooms. ""My mother taught me to play on this before she passed. Dad refused to let them take it.""
""Where did he put it?"" Julian asked, shining his flashlight along the rear paneling.
Clara knelt, reaching behind the lower sounding board where the foot pedals connected to the interior dampers. Her fingers probed into the dark recess until she felt the edge of a taped canvas pouch wedged between the cast-iron frame and the pinblock.
""Got it,"" she breathed, pulling it free with a sharp rip of aged adhesive.
Inside the pouch lay a thick, moisture-sealed envelope stamped with the crest of the Delaware State Banking Commission. Julian unsealed it, scanning the documents under the beam of the flashlight.
""Bank transfer routing slips,"" Julian said, his eyes darkening with fury. ""Henderson personally wired thirty-six million dollars from the Crestview account into an offshore entity in the Cayman Islands forty-eight hours before the Dayton plant was closed. He didn't just frame Arthur—he looted the entire pension reserve to cover his personal trading losses.""
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Suddenly, the front door creaked open behind them.
""I wondered how long it would take for someone to come looking for that,"" a cold, familiar voice echoed from the foyer.
