Chapter Nine: The Empty Safe
The drive north was a white-knuckle blur.
Harrison kept checking the rearview mirror, convinced he was being followed.
Every black SUV made his heart hammer against his ribs.
But the road remained clear.
The further he got from the city, the more the trees closed in—their autumn leaves looking like fire against the gray sky.
By the time he turned onto the gravel access road leading to the cabin, it was late afternoon.
The woods were silent, save for the caw of a crow.
The cabin looked exactly as he had left it six months ago.
A rustic A-frame made of dark cedar, nestled in a clearing of pines.
It looked abandoned.
It looked safe.
Harrison parked the car behind a shed to hide it from the main road.
He walked up the porch steps, the wood creaking loudly in the stillness.
He reached above the doorframe for the spare key he had hidden inside a hollowed-out knot in the wood.
His fingers brushed against something.
Not metal.
Paper.
He froze.
He pulled his hand back.
There was no key.
There was a folded piece of heavy, cream-colored card stock wedged into the hiding spot.
Harrison’s breath hitched.
He unfolded the paper.
It was blank.
“Paranoia,” he muttered.
“Just paranoia. The wind blew it there.”
He didn’t need the key.
He grabbed a heavy stone from the garden and smashed the glass pane of the back door.
He reached in, unlocked the latch, and stumbled into the kitchen.
The air inside was freezing—colder than the outside.
Dust motes danced in the shafts of light cutting through the gloom.
Harrison didn’t waste time.
He ran to the bedroom, threw open the closet door, and fell to his knees.
He clawed at the edge of the floor rug, throwing it aside.
There underneath was the loose floorboard.
He pried it up with his fingernails, ignoring the splinter that drove itself into his thumb.
The hole was dark.
He used his cheap burner phone as a flashlight.
The safe was there. A small black Sentry safe.
Harrison let out a sob of relief.
“Yes. Yes.”
He dialed in the combination—his own birthday.
The lock clicked.
The door swung open.
Harrison reached inside.
His hand closed around the cold, brushed metal of the USB drive.
He pulled it out and kissed it.
Twenty million dollars.
It was enough to start over.
He could fly to a non-extradition country. He could buy a new identity. He could live like a king in Thailand or Brazil.
He stood up, clutching the drive.
He felt the rush of adrenaline returning.
He was Harrison Sterling.
He had outsmarted the trust.
He had beaten Saraphina.
