Chapter 9 - BENEATH THE RESORT
We returned to Seaside Springs before sunset.
Dad was still with Mom.
Daniel had disappeared.
Not released.
Not officially detained.
Simply gone.
Federal investigators claimed he had left voluntarily after questioning.
His attorney claimed he had never arrived at his office.
His phone was off.
For the first time, I wondered whether Daniel had been a conspirator, a pawn, or both.
Maybe he had finally realized the people he worked for were willing to erase loose ends.
Mason met us at the resort with four security officers.
“No one moves alone.”
He had already obtained the original blueprints.
Seaside Springs had been built in stages.
Main hotel.
Guest villas.
Spa.
Restaurant.
Then a structure no longer shown on modern plans.
A cellar beneath the western terrace.
Directly beneath the table where Vanessa had called me stupid that morning.
The entrance was behind a locked storage room.
The resort manager swore he had never seen the door opened.
Rebecca still had one more key from Grandpa’s box.
It fit.
Cold air rose from the darkness.
Vanessa grabbed my arm.
“You’re seriously going down there?”
“Yes.”
“This is how people die in movies.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
“So stay upstairs.”
She glared at me.
“Absolutely not.”
For the first time that day, we walked beside each other like sisters.
The cellar smelled of dust, wood, and old salt.
Rows of empty wine racks lined the walls.
Mason searched first.
Nothing obvious.
Then Rebecca noticed an engraving.
Three letters carved into stone.
B.
V.
W.
Bennett.
Vale.
Whitmore.
Below them was a date.
Mason pressed the stone.
Nothing.
I remembered Grandpa’s letter.
The mistake I feared was not stopped in time.
I examined the floor.
One wine rack had newer bolts.
We moved it.
Behind it was a metal door.
Locked.
Claire tried the brass key.
Wrong.
Vanessa pointed toward the old Bennett crest carved into the wall.
“Grandpa used dates for passwords.”
“How do you know?”
“He made me memorize his alarm code when I was sixteen.”
“What date?”
She looked at the engraving.
“Not 1989.”
Then she smiled faintly.
“Your birthday.”
I stared at her.
“Why mine?”
“Because you were his favorite.”
Under any other circumstances, I might have argued.
Instead I entered the six digits.
The lock clicked.
Inside were boxes.
Dozens.
Property deeds.
Bank ledgers.
Partnership agreements.
Photographs.
Cassette tapes.
Old legal correspondence.
And one modern hard drive.
Claire stared.
“That wasn’t here thirty years ago.”
Someone had been updating the archive.
Mason connected it to an isolated laptop.
Encrypted.
He began working.
I opened one box.
Inside were records of payments dating back decades.
Politicians.
Inspectors.
Judges.
Bankers.
Local officials.
Not millions.
Small amounts.
Regular amounts.
Enough to influence decisions without attracting attention.
Vanessa whispered, “This is corruption.”
Rebecca shook her head.
“This is a network.”
I found Grandpa’s name.
Then Jonathan Vale’s father.
Samuel Whitmore.
And finally Richard Bennett.
My father.
Payments began twenty-six years ago.
Monthly.
Dad had been receiving money from the partnership.
Long before Mom’s investments.
Long before Daniel.
I felt nauseated.
Mason looked up.
“We cracked the drive.”
A folder appeared.
ACTIVE.
Inside were names.
Jonathan Vale.
Ethan Whitmore.
Daniel Parker.
Margaret Bennett.
Thomas Bell.
And Richard Bennett.
My father.
Vanessa whispered, “No.”
I clicked Dad’s folder.
Documents opened.
Property transfers.
Emails.
Meeting notes.
Then a video file dated six months earlier.
The week of my brake failure.
I pressed play.
Security footage appeared.
A private dining room.
Jonathan Vale sat at the table.
Ethan Whitmore beside him.
Thomas Bell.
Daniel.
Then another man entered.
Gray hair.
Navy jacket.
My father.
Vanessa covered her mouth.
Dad sat down.
Jonathan poured him a drink.
The audio was poor, but one sentence was perfectly clear.
Dad said:
“She’ll never sell willingly.”
Jonathan answered:
“Then Audrey cannot remain the controlling vote.”
My blood turned to ice.
The video stopped.
Not because it had ended.
Because somebody upstairs screamed.
May you like
Mason instantly drew his weapon.
Then the lights went out.
