Chapter 6: Dark Water on the County Highway
The heavy iron door of the annex groaned on its hinges as the footsteps drew closer, the rhythmic clack of hard-soled shoes striking the damp concrete floor. Julian reacted instantly, his hand darting out to shove the heavy oak filing drawer shut with a muffled thud. He caught my arm, pulling me back into the shadowed recess between the tall metal shelves where the damp smell of old paper and masonry hung thick in the air. Brutus didn't snarl or bare his teeth this time; the massive Cane Corso simply lowered his heavy head, his muscles bunching beneath his dark coat as he planted himself squarely in front of us like a living shield.
A flashlight beam cut through the dimness, slicing across the dust motes dancing in the cold air. The light swept over the empty metal table and the rust-stained water pipes overhead before pausing just feet from where we stood in the shadows.
"I know someone was down here," a sharp, unfamiliar voice called out, echoing off the stone walls. It was one of Marcus Vance's junior compliance officers, a man named Henderson whom I had seen hovering around the board room with a clipboard and a permanent sneer. "The padlock on the side gate was sheared clean off. Come out before I call the county sheriff and have you all hauled away for trespassing on corporate property."
Julian stepped out from the shadows before Henderson could sweep the flashlight lower. He didn't rush or raise his voice, but the sudden, cold authority in his posture made the other man freeze mid-step, the flashlight beam jerking violently downward.
"You're welcome to call whoever you like, Henderson," Julian said smoothly, stepping directly into the beam of light so his dark suit and slicked-back hair caught the glare. "But if you look at the title deed in the county recorder's office, you'll find this particular subterranean vault belongs to the Moretti-Vance historical trust—an entity that hasn't answered to your board since before you passed your bar exams."
Henderson lowered the flashlight, his face pale and sweating despite the chill in the room. He shifted his weight, his eyes darting past Julian to where Brutus's low, rumbling growl began to vibrate in the dog's chest. The massive canine didn't move an inch, but the threat in his posture was unmistakable.
"Marcus is going to tear you apart, Vance," Henderson muttered, taking a slow step backward toward the exit stairs. "You think you've got the old man's records, but the state filings are already moving toward liquidation. By morning, there won't be anything left of this foundation to save."
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"Try moving them," Julian replied, his voice dangerously soft. "And see what happens when the state attorney general gets the forged notary papers we just pulled from that drawer."
Henderson didn't answer. He turned sharply on his heel and hurried back up the concrete steps, the heavy steel door slamming shut behind him with a crash that rattled the dust off the rafters. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, my fingers gripping the leather edge of the historical ledger still clutched in my left hand. Julian turned back to me, his features softening in the gloom, and for the first time since my father collapsed, the rigid wall between us felt entirely gone.
