Chapter 28 - Return to the Ruins
The Savannah fog rolled in heavy off the river, wrapping the skeletal remains of the old Sterling estate in a thick, ghostly shroud. The mansion had burned down partially a decade ago, leaving only blackened brick chimneys and jagged stone archways poking out of the overgrown marsh grass like ancient ruins.
Evan killed the headlights of the SUV a hundred yards down the private gravel drive, coasting the vehicle silently into a thick grove of live oak trees draped in Spanish moss.
"The entrance to the sub-basement vault is behind the old carriage house," I whispered, pulling the Glock micro-compact from my coat pocket and checking the chamber. My hand was steady now. The fear had burned away, replaced by a cold, hard resolve.
We moved through the fog like shadows, stepping over fallen branches and crumbling stonework until we reached the heavy iron cellar doors half-hidden beneath a tangle of wild blackberry vines.
Evan grabbed the rusted iron padlock securing the doors, pulled out a heavy-duty tactical bolt cutter from the back of his belt, and snapped the shackle with a single, practiced heave. The heavy iron doors groaned open, releasing a stale blast of damp earth and centuries-old dust.
"After you," Evan murmured, holding his tactical flashlight aloft as the beam cut through the pitch-black descent.
We descended the stone steps one by one, our boots echoing in the hollow subterranean expanse. The old family vault wasn't just a storage room—it was a Cold War-era bunker built by my grandfather to protect the family's shipping fortunes against political upheaval.
As we reached the bottom of the stairs, a faint sliver of blue light emanated from around the corner of the reinforced steel vault door.
Someone was already inside.
We crept silently along the damp stone corridor, flattening our backs against the rough masonry wall as we approached the open vault door. Inside, illuminated by the cold glow of a portable laptop setup, stood the figure in the black tactical gear—my newly surfaced twin sister, her hoodie pulled down, frantically typing commands into a mainframe terminal.
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"I told you, little sister," her voice echoed smoothly off the stone walls without turning around, "you're always a few steps behind."
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