Chapter 4 - The Ghost Apartment
The key turned in the deadbolt of my high-rise apartment with a dry, metallic click that sounded entirely too loud in the empty hallway. The morning sun was struggling to pierce the thick smog hanging over the city, casting a jaundiced, yellow light across the plush hallway carpeting.
"Stay behind me," Cormac whispered, his hand resting on the small of my back as he pushed the door open an inch. His black blazer was buttoned now, the line of his shoulders filling the narrow entryway.
The apartment was exactly as I had left it when Gideon dragged me out to the dinner: a sanctuary of minimalist white furniture, expensive art prints, and high-end silence. But something was off. The air smelled faintly of ozone and expensive shoe polish.
Cormac stepped inside first, his eyes sweeping the corners of the living room. "Someone's been here," he muttered.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I followed him into the hallway, my eyes darting toward the study where the hidden wall safe was concealed behind a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. The shelves had been pulled slightly away from the drywall, leaving a narrow gap.
"They beat us to it," I breathed, panic clawing at my throat.
"Not by long," Cormac said, dropping into a low, tactical crouch as he inspected the latch of the wall safe. The heavy iron door had been forced open with a hydraulic pry bar, the white drywall crunched into powdery white dust on the hardwood floor.
Suddenly, the muffled sound of a key turning in the front door lock echoed through the entryway.
Cormac didn't hesitate. He grabbed my arm with a grip that brooked no argument, hauling me toward the service balcony that overlooked the alley three floors down. "Move," he hissed.
"Wait—the ledger, is it gone?"
"They took the decoy file," Cormac said grimly as he forced the balcony door open against its rusted latch. He reached behind a stack of decorative planters, pulling out a heavy black leather-bound book with gold embossing—the real master ledger that Gideon kept hidden under the floorboards of the guest closet rather than the wall safe. "I swapped it out twenty minutes after we got here. Marsh is predictable."
As we scrambled over the low iron railing onto the narrow maintenance ladder descending into the alley, the front door of the apartment clicked open. A deep, gruff voice called out into the living room: "Boss, the safe's already blown. It's clean."
Cormac didn't look back. He guided me down the metal rungs step by step, his body acting as a shield between me and the open air of the drop. By the time the heavy thud of boots reached the balcony above us, we were already hitting the wet asphalt of the alleyway, ducking into the shadow of a waiting delivery van.
Cormac shoved me into the passenger seat, slammed the door, and threw the van into reverse before the tires even had traction. As we roared out into morning traffic, I clutched the heavy leather-bound ledger to my chest, the gold letters burning against my palms.
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"We have it," I whispered, staring at Cormac’s profile as he navigated the maze of downtown delivery trucks with terrifying calm.
"We have the match," Cormac said, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Now we just have to figure out how to light the fire."
