Chapter 6 - The Evidence Vault-6
"GET DOWN! HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!"
Officer Vance and three SWAT operators tackled Victor Vance to the wet concrete floor before he could reach his hunting knife. Within five seconds, he was pinned, hand-cuffed behind his back, and dragged out of the vault, cursing wildly in a mix of rage and madness.
Detective Miller stepped through the smoke, holstering his sidearm. He knelt beside Rowan, helping him sit up against a concrete pillar.
"You're a stubborn man, Mercer," Miller said, offering him a small, respectful nod. "We tracked your phone's GPS the moment you left the ER parking lot."
Rowan ignored the intense pain in his shoulder, scrambling over to Delaney. He used a pocketknife offered by a paramedic to cut the heavy zip-ties around her wrists and ankles.
The moment she was free, Delaney collapsed into Rowan’s arms, weeping uncontrollably, holding him so tightly he could barely breathe.
"Rowan... oh God, Rowan... the kids..." she sobbed into his soaked coat. "Where are Micah and Elsie? Are they safe? Please tell me they're okay!"
"They're safe," Rowan reassured her, stroking her damp hair, tears running down his own cheeks. "They're at Vanderbilt ER. Elsie had a severe fever, but she’s on an IV drip now. Micah called me, Delaney. He saved his sister’s life."
Delaney buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with profound, unbearable guilt. "I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry, Rowan! Victor ambushed me at the house on Wednesday morning... he dragged me out before I could get to the kids! He told me if I made a sound or tried to call for help, his men would go inside and kill both of them!"
"His men?" Detective Miller asked sharply, stepping closer. "Victor had accomplices?"
Delaney looked up, her face pale under the harsh tactical lights. "He mentioned a partner... someone inside the city government who gave him the release papers from the prison hospital. Someone who knew Arthur's old records!"
Rowan looked over at the rusted bank of steel drawers—Vault 14, Bay B.
Detective Miller walked over to the drawer, pulling out a heavy crowbar from a tactical pouch. "Let's see what Arthur Vance was protecting for thirty years."
With a loud, metallic screech, Miller jammed the crowbar into the seam of Drawer V-14-B and leveraged his entire body weight against it.
The old lock snapped. The drawer slid open with a heavy scrape.
Inside sat three thick, black canvas bags, covered in three decades of dust. Miller unzipped the top bag and shined his flashlight inside.
Stack upon stack of crisp, hundred-dollar bills bound in official Federal Reserve bands filled the interior—alongside a thick, leather-bound notebook marked: PROPERTY OF TENNESSEE DEPARTMENT OF CORRECTIONAL SERVICES - LOGBOOK 1998.
"Four million dollars," Miller muttered softly. "It's all here."
Rowan stepped closer, looking at the leather-bound logbook. He reached down and opened the first page.
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Written in faded blue ink were dozens of dates, dollar amounts, and official badge numbers. But at the very bottom of the final page was a handwritten contract dated three weeks before Arthur Vance’s death, signed by Arthur and a second high-ranking official:
Shared Custody of Escrow Funds - 50% Arthur Vance / 50% Mayor's Chief of Staff, Harold Sterling.
