Chapter 6 - Shadows on the Wall
Over the next two weeks, Derek’s life devolved into a waking nightmare.
He couldn't claim the three-million-dollar life insurance payout because Grace’s body had not been officially found, leaving her classified as a missing person. Meanwhile, his loan sharks were calling every hour, threatening to break his legs if he didn't pay back his $400,000 gambling debt by the end of the month.
To make matters worse, strange things began happening in his house.
He would wake up in the middle of the night to find the thermostat set to −50°F, the digital display glowing red in the dark hallway. He would fix it, his heart pounding, only to find the front door unlocked and frost melting on his kitchen counter.
"I’m losing my mind," Derek muttered one evening, pouring himself a third glass of scotch in his dark study.
His phone buzzed on the desk. It was an anonymous text message from an untraceable burner number.
Check your email, murderer.
Derek’s hands shook as he clicked open his laptop. An email had just arrived from an unknown sender. Attached was a ten-second video clip.
Derek pressed play.
The video showed the interior of Vault B from the night of the incident. In the high-definition footage, Grace was on her knees, crying out his name, clutching her pregnant belly. Then, the audio played—crystal clear, echoing through his expensive speakers:
“The life insurance pays triple for accidental death... And two million dollars thinks about them very well.”
Derek dropped his glass. It shattered on the floor, amber liquor splashing over his shoes.
"No... no, no, no!" Derek screamed, pushing back his chair. "The feeds were off! I turned them off!"
His phone rang. He snatched it up, pressing it to his ear. "Who is this?! What do you want?!"
A voice answered—not Grace’s, but Carter Vance’s, calm and dripping with absolute venom.
"The annual Vance Charities Gala is tomorrow night at the Grand Regency Ballroom, Derek," Carter said softly. "You’re going to attend. You’re going to bring your financial books. And you’re going to sign over your remaining company shares to me for pennies on the dollar to pay off your bookies."
"And if I don't?!" Derek spat, sweat pouring down his face.
"If you don't," Carter replied, "that video gets delivered to the State Prosecutor, the insurance board, and every news network in the country at 9:00 PM sharp."
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The line went dead.
Derek slumped onto his desk, clutching his head, completely unaware that in a high-tech recovery suite across town, Grace was holding her baby boy and baby girl in her arms, watching his breakdown live on a private monitor.
