Chapter 4 - THE BRASS KEY
The ride in the back of the armored SUV was a blur of neon city lights and sheer, blinding terror.
I clutched my phone, dialing Mrs. Higgins’s number over and over again. Every time, it went straight to voicemail.
“Please, God, please,” I sobbed, my forehead pressed against the cold tinted window.
Dominic sat beside me, his presence a heavy, commanding anchor in the chaos. He had one hand pressed to an earpiece, coordinating his men.
“Lock down the block. Nobody enters or exits the building until I have eyes on the girl,” he ordered into the mic. Then he looked at me. “We are three minutes away, Emma. Breathe.”
“They were in her room,” I cried, turning to him. “They took her drawing. What if they took her?”
“They didn't,” Dominic said with absolute certainty. “They sent a scout to the diner to confirm it was you. Taking a child is messy. It draws federal heat. They want you compliant, not desperate.”
The SUVs screeched to a halt in front of my crumbling apartment building. The streetlights flickered, casting long, menacing shadows across the brick facade.
Before the car even fully stopped, I threw open the door and sprinted across the sidewalk.
Dominic’s men flanked me instantly, their weapons drawn, moving with terrifying military precision. We took the stairs two at a time. Third floor. Apartment 3B.
The front door was slightly ajar. The lock had been expertly picked.
I pushed past a guard, ignoring his warning to stay back.
“Lily!” I screamed.
The living room was completely trashed. Couch cushions were slashed open, books were thrown off the shelves, and my cheap kitchen chairs were splintered into pieces.
“Emma!” a weak voice called out from the kitchen.
I rushed in. Mrs. Higgins was sitting on the floor, her wrists bound with zip ties, looking thoroughly shaken but unharmed.
“Where is she?” I begged, dropping to my knees.
“Closet,” the old woman wheezed. “When they started knocking, I hid her in the hallway closet under the winter coats. I told her to play the silent game.”
I scrambled down the hall and flung open the closet door.
Lily was curled up in a tiny ball in the dark, clutching her stuffed rabbit. When she saw my face, she threw herself into my arms, bursting into tears.
“Mommy! The loud men broke our chairs!”
“I know, baby, I know. I’ve got you,” I sobbed, burying my face in her soft hair, holding her so tight my arms ached.
I carried her out to the living room. Dominic was kneeling near the center of the room, instructing a guard to cut Mrs. Higgins’s zip ties.
He looked at Lily, his dark eyes softening profoundly. “You must be Lily. I’m a friend of your mom’s.”
Lily sniffled, burying her face in my neck.
I looked around the destroyed apartment. “Why did they do this? If they didn't want to kidnap her, what were they looking for?”
“I don't know,” Dominic said, standing up. He began walking slowly around the room, his eyes scanning the debris. He stopped near the baseboard heater beneath the window.
He knelt down, running his gloved fingers over a loose wooden floorboard. He pried it up with a sharp crack.
He reached inside the dusty cavity and pulled something out.
It was a small, heavy object wrapped in a velvet cloth.
Dominic unwrapped it, and the color completely drained from his face.
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It was a tarnished brass key with a very specific, intricate crest stamped onto the head—a roaring lion.
“Emma,” Dominic whispered, staring at the object as if it were a live grenade. “This is the master key to my father’s private vault. The one that was stolen the night he was murdered.”
