Chapter 4
The next twenty-four hours were a blur of preparation.
Jake worked his magic on his laptop, muttering to himself while lines of code scrolled down the screen. He mapped out the Vale estate’s security system, every camera, every sensor, every alarm.
“Here,” he said, pointing at a digital blueprint of the house. “The study is on the second floor, west wing. Private hallway. Two cameras. Motion sensors. And the safe itself—if it’s what I think it is, it’ll have a biometric lock. Fingerprint or retinal scan.”
My stomach sank. “So even if we get past the cameras, we can’t open the safe.”
Jake grinned. “I didn’t say that. I said it has a biometric lock. But every high-end safe has a backup code. Usually something only the owner knows. Something personal.”
“Like what?”
“Birthday. Anniversary. Kid’s name. Something meaningful.”
I thought about Alexander Vale.
Cold. Calculating. Obsessed with his public image.
“Isabelle,” I said quietly. “His wife. Matthew’s mother. She died three years ago.”
Jake nodded, typing something into his computer. “Possible. Or maybe Matthew’s birthday. Or the day Vale Corp went public. I’ll run the most likely combinations through a decryption program. It’ll take time, but if we can get you to the keypad, I can feed you codes remotely.”
He held up a small earpiece, barely visible.
“Wear this. I’ll be in your ear the whole time. Guiding you. Telling you when to move, when to hide. And these—” He pulled out a pair of glasses with clear lenses. “—have a tiny camera built in. I’ll see everything you see.”
It felt like something out of a spy movie.
I looked at Sarah. She was loading a duffel bag with what looked like basic tools.
“Sarah, what is all that?”
“Just in case,” she said, not looking up. “Jake handles the tech, I handle the practical stuff. Like how to pick a lock if his fancy hacking doesn’t work.”
I stared at my sister.
Since when did she know how to pick locks?
She looked up and saw my expression.
“I had a rebellious phase. Don’t judge me.”
Lucy sat on the floor, coloring, completely unaware of the dangerous plan unfolding around her. Every few minutes she’d look up and smile, and I’d have to look away.
I was risking everything.
Our safety. Our future. Lucy’s childhood.
But every time I thought about backing out, I saw Matthew’s face. That small, wobbly smile. The desperate way his hands had moved, signing for help.
He had no one else.
The charity dinner started at seven.
Jake said the best window would be around eight thirty, when the main course was being served. Everyone would be seated. The servers would be busy. Security would be focused on the guests, not the private wings of the house.
At seven forty-five, we left Sarah’s house.
Jake drove. Sarah sat in the passenger seat, checking and rechecking the equipment. I sat in the back, dressed in my old maid’s uniform.
“Your best disguise,” Sarah had said. “No one questions a maid in that house.”
She was right.
For three years, I’d been invisible in that uniform. Part of the furniture. People saw the dress, not the person inside it.
Tonight, that invisibility would be my greatest weapon.
We parked three blocks from the estate.
Jake opened his laptop and connected to a portable antenna he’d set up on the roof of the car.
“Alright,” he said, his fingers flying. “I’m in. Security system is mine. Cameras are looping. You’ve got about twelve minutes before the system resets and someone notices. Maybe fifteen if I’m good.”
“Be good,” Sarah said.
“Always am.”
I put in the earpiece. I put on the glasses.
“Can you hear me?” Jake’s voice came through clear.
“Yes.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
I got out of the car and started walking.
The Vale estate loomed ahead, lit up like a palace. Music drifted through the air. I could hear the distant sound of laughter, of clinking glasses.
I walked up the servant’s entrance—the one I’d used a thousand times before—and pulled out the key I’d never returned.
It still worked.
I slipped inside.
The kitchen was chaos, just as I knew it would be. Servers rushed back and forth, balancing trays of food. The head chef was yelling at someone about temperatures. No one looked at me twice.
Just another maid.
Invisible.
I walked through the kitchen, down the hallway, toward the main staircase.
“Clear,” Jake said in my ear. “No cameras on this hallway. But there’s one at the top of the stairs. Wait for my signal.”
I waited, my heart pounding.
“Okay. The feed is looping. Move. Now.”
I climbed the stairs quickly, my shoes silent on the carpet.
At the top, I turned right. The west wing. The private hallway.
“Two cameras ahead,” Jake said. “I’ve got them. But the motion sensors—they’re hardwired. I can’t disable them completely, just lower their sensitivity. Move slowly. Stay close to the walls.”
I did as he said.
Every step felt like an eternity.
The hallway was quiet. Too quiet. The noise from the party below was just a distant murmur here.
I passed doors I’d never been allowed to open. The master bedroom. The guest suites. A library that smelled like old books and secrets.
And then—
The study.
The door was heavy, dark wood. I reached for the handle.
“Locked,” Jake said. “Of course it is. Give me a second.”
I waited, pressing my back against the wall, listening.
Nothing.
“Got it,” Jake said. “I bypassed the electronic lock. But be careful—there’s a mechanical deadbolt too.”
I tried the handle again. It turned.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The study was exactly as I remembered it. Dark wood paneling. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A massive desk that looked like it belonged in a museum.
And on the far wall—
*The Tempest*.
The painting of the ship.
It was enormous. Dark, dramatic, waves crashing against a vessel that looked like it was about to be swallowed by the sea.
I walked toward it, my shoes sinking into the thick carpet.
“Okay,” Jake said. “You’re looking for a latch. Usually behind the frame. Feel around the edges.”
I ran my fingers along the back of the painting.
Wood. Canvas. More wood.
And then—
A small metal lever.
I pulled it.
There was a soft click, and the painting swung outward on a hidden hinge.
Behind it was the safe.
Exactly as Matthew had said.
It was sleek, modern. A digital keypad glowed blue in the dim light. Above it, a small fingerprint scanner.
“Found it,” I whispered.
“Good,” Jake said. “Now, the hard part. I’m going to feed you codes. Enter them one at a time. We’ve got about seven minutes left.”
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me.
“First code: 0-3-1-5-9-2.”
I entered the numbers.
The keypad flashed red.
Wrong.
“Second code: 1-1-0-8-1-9.”
Red again.
“Third: 0-7-2-4-6-8.”
Red.
My hands were starting to shake.
“Jake—”
“I know, I know. I’m running through the combinations as fast as I can. Try 0-4-1-2-7-3.”
I entered it.
Red.
“Damn it. Try Isabelle’s birthday. 0-9-1-6-8-8.”
I typed it in.
The keypad hesitated.
And then—
It flashed green.
There was a heavy mechanical thud, and the safe door swung open.
I stared.
Inside, stacks of documents. Folders labeled with names I didn’t recognize. A few small jewelry boxes. And—
A thick manila envelope, sealed with wax.
Written on the front, in elegant handwriting:
*For Matthew. When he is old enough to understand.*
I reached for it.
And then I heard footsteps in the hallway.
Heavy.
May you like
Approaching.
“Elena,” Jake said, his voice urgent. “Someone’s coming. You need to hide. Now.”
