The Price of Betrayal and the Business of Reclaiming My Life
The large mahogany desk was cluttered with opened mail and unpaid utility bills.
In the corner stood the grandfather clock, its brass pendulum completely still.
I knelt on the Persian rug, my knees sinking into the soft wool.
I reached behind the base of the clock, my fingers searching the dusty wood.
Near the bottom, my nails caught on a seam in the backing.
I pulled, and a small square panel popped loose with a dry click.
Inside the dark recess lay a black velvet drawstring pouch.
I pulled it out and opened it, letting a small black USB drive fall into my hand.
“Is this it?” Arthur asked, leaning down beside me.
“Yes,” I said.
I sat at Daniel’s desk and opened Arthur’s laptop, plugging the drive into the side port.
A password prompt immediately appeared on the screen.
“Do you know the password?” Arthur asked.
“Try his mother’s maiden name and her birth year,” I said. “He used that for everything.”
Arthur typed in ‘Vance1952’.
The folder opened, revealing a series of PDF bank statements from a financial institution in Switzerland.