Chapter 3 - THE BREAKOUT AND THE CIPHER
The information Marcus dropped in Ward 4B was a ticking time bomb, and I knew I couldn't rely on the standard legal channels anymore. If District Attorney Arthur Pendelton was in cahoots with Veronica, any motion filed through regular local courts would simply be intercepted, buried, or used to tip them off. I needed to get out, find that ledger, and locate Lily before Veronica posted bail.
Fortunately, Blackwell Maximum Security had a few blind spots that fourteen months of silent observation had taught me to map out.
Two nights after Marcus’s visit, during the chaotic shift change at midnight when the guards were distracted by a staged kitchen fire on Block C, I made my move. Using a makeshift shiv crafted from a discarded floor-buffer spring—a piece of contraband I had hidden behind the laundry chute weeks ago—I picked the lock on the maintenance utility hatch behind the industrial dryers.
The ventilation shaft was cramped, coated in decades of suffocating gray dust and cobwebs, but it led straight past the perimeter wall generator and out into the dense pine forests bordering the prison grounds.
By 3:00 AM, I was running barefoot through the freezing mud, wearing a stolen gray prison maintenance jumpsuit I had snagged from a laundry cart. The autumn wind bit through the thin cotton fabric, but adrenaline kept my limbs moving. I needed to reach the old Vance family estate on the outskirts of the city—a sprawling Victorian mansion that had been sealed off by the state ever since my arrest.
Navigating the overgrown iron gates of the estate was like stepping back into a ghost town. The mansion loomed against the pale moonlight like a dark, brooding monolith. Sirens echoed faintly in the distance—the prison had undoubtedly discovered my escape—so I had to work fast.
I smashed a small pane of glass on the back pantry door, slipped inside, and made my way up the grand mahogany staircase toward my late father’s private study.
The room smelled of old leather, pipe tobacco, and dust. The heavy oak desk sat untouched, covered in layers of neglect. I dropped to my knees and began pulling out the bottom drawers, searching frantically for the hidden compartment Marcus had mentioned.
The ledger.
My fingers traced the intricate hand-carved wood along the base of the bookshelf behind the desk. I pressed down on a loose mahogany peg shaped like a chess rook. With a satisfying mechanical clack, a hidden floor panel slid open, revealing a velvet-lined recess containing a heavy, leather-bound accounting ledger with gold-leaf lettering.
I pulled it out and flipped open the brittle pages. They weren't filled with standard financial figures; they were covered in a dense, complex numerical cipher—numbers, book titles, and page references corresponding to classic literature volumes lining the study shelves.
Suddenly, the heavy front door of the mansion downstairs groaned open.
"Check the upstairs perimeter!" a gruff, unfamiliar voice echoed through the high-ceilinged foyer. "Pendelton’s men are already en route. If Vance's daughter is here, secure her or eliminate her. Make it look like a suicide attempt."
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Footsteps began marching up the grand staircase, heavy and purposeful.
I grabbed the ledger, scrambled toward the floor-to-ceiling velvet curtains covering the east balcony, and slipped out into the freezing night air just as the study door flew open.
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Balancing precariously on the stone ledge three stories above the paved driveway, I spotted an old oak tree whose sprawling branches brushed against the balcony railing. Without hesitating, I leaped into the dark foliage, grabbing branches that tore at my skin and clothes, and dropped heavily onto the grass below.
I didn't look back. I sprinted into the dense timberline of the Blackwood Mountains, clutching the leather ledger to my chest like a lifeline.
