Chapter 13 - The Safety Deposit Box
The inside of the greenhouse smelled of damp moss, decomposing leaves, and pungent industrial solvents. Water dripped steadily from the shattered glass roof, splashing against cracked terracotta pots and rusted iron tables.
I clicked on my pocket flashlight, keeping the beam shielded with my fingers so no light leaked toward the main house. In the center of the conservatory stood a workbench covered with an oily tarp. I yanked the tarp away.
Beneath it sat the aluminum briefcase Dr. Vance had delivered. It was unlocked.
Inside lay three thick glass vials filled with an amber liquid, nestled in molded foam beside a high-pressure motorized nebulizer. But it was the manila folder beneath the vials that stopped my breath entirely.
Inside was a death certificate.
My name, *Clara Sterling Thorne*, was typed cleanly across the top line. The cause of death was listed as *Acute cardiopulmonary collapse resulting from advanced cerebral atrophy*. The document was already signed and stamped by Dr. Marcus Vance. All that remained blank was the date of death.
Beneath the certificate was an international wire transfer agreement and a duplicate passport bearing Ethan’s photograph—under the alias *Julian Mercer*. Beside it lay a second passport: a woman with dark hair and sharp features, named *Helena Ross*.
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A folded polaroid fell from the envelope. It showed Ethan standing on a sun-drenched terrace in Monaco, his arm wrapped tightly around Helena Ross. Written on the back in Ethan’s distinctive cursive were the words: *Only 48 hours left until our new beginning.*
***
