Chapter 6 - vault four hundred and twelve
The grand marble lobby of First National Bank was eerie and quiet at 11:45 PM. Soaring stone pillars stretched up into dark shadows, and the polished brass fixtures gleamed under the soft yellow night lights.
Cole stepped through the heavy bronze doors wearing his dark wool overcoat, flanked by Marcus and two men. Behind them walked Hannah, holding Owen close to her side.
Standing near the center of the lobby, surrounded by four lawyers in pinstriped suits and three armed guards, was Silas Mercer. Cole's uncle was sixty years old, impeccably groomed with slick silver hair and a thin, cruel mouth that had never offered a kind word in his entire life.
"Cole," Silas said smoothly, stepping forward with his hands rested on his gold-topped cane. "You're late for your grandfather's reading. Though I see you brought the unexpected guest."
Silas glanced down at Owen, his eyes glinting with cold greed. "He has the Mercer jaw. Quite impressive."
"Touch him or look at him again, Silas, and I'll end this family line tonight," Cole said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
Silas chuckled softly. "Always so dramatic, just like your father. But violence won't save you tonight, nephew. As interim chairman of the Mercer Board, I have already filed a petition with the probate court. Under section four of the charter, any unratified bloodline heir places all private assets into an emergency conservatorship managed by me."
Silas held up a rolled legal document stamped with a red wax seal. "Vault 412 contains Harold's private trust deeds. As conservator, I am the only person legally authorized to open it."
Hannah stepped forward, her dark burgundy velvet dress swaying gently, her eyes blazing with raw authority.
"You're wrong, Silas," Hannah said, her voice echoing off the marble walls.
Silas sneered. "Stay out of this, girl. You were paid to leave eight years ago."
"I was never paid," Hannah replied coldly, reaching into her leather handbag. "And you forgot one very important detail about Harold's trust. The 1924 charter states that an unratified heir suspends the boss's authority—unless the child's mother holds the original hand-carved registry knight."
Hannah pulled out a small, second wooden piece from her bag—a carved white oak queen, identical in craftsmanship to the knight Owen had laid on Harold's coffin.
May you like
Silas's smooth demeanor cracked instantly. "Where did you get that?"
"Harold gave it to me the night Owen was born," Hannah said, stepping right up to Silas. "He made me the official trustee of Owen's private holdings until he reaches adulthood. Which means I hold the master key to Vault 412. Not Cole. And certainly not you."
