Page 124 of Oathbreaker

“The vault,” I say, beginning to walk further into the estate toward the grand staircase leading to the second floor.

A rivulet of sweat runs between my shoulder blades, and the thick humidity reminds me I’m far from home.

I rub the side of my nose.

Despite the enormity of the mansion, it doesn’t take many minutes for me to come across the vault door in the dark hallway.

The five sets of boots march toward the safe, and I shine my light on the combination pad next to the door.

“You know, this would be a whole hell of a lot easier if you just told me what you’re looking for.”

The three men, who I’ve named Nameless One, Nameless Two, and Nameless Three, pause to look at me.

“We are looking for a black leather journal,” Nameless Two says in a richly accented voice.

“Okay, a black leather journal. Any ideas on size?” Leo asks.

“We’ll know it when we see it.” This from Nameless One.

“Cool,” I drawl. “We have a lot to go off then.”

“Just open the door, mudak.”

If I didn’t already know he was calling me an asshole, the way he grinds out the last word makes it perfectly clear.

I shine my light on the digital keypad. Since the electricity is cut off, the screen is dead, black.

I pause, and not because I don’t know how to bypass the dead control system. I pause because when I shift my beam a little to the left, the vault door is open.

“What is the problem?” Nameless Two again.

“The door is open. My father never would have kept it open like this.”

The Ukrainians ignore my statement, pushing past me and surging into the room. They immediately knock over furniture and pull-out drawers.

It’s strange that the men completely ignore the piles of money and jewels in the center of the room.

What’s also strange is that this room is untouched.

“If there’s going to be anything,” I say, moving further into the vault, “it’s going to be in here.”

I look in the direction of the old television and file cabinet. The pair stands just as it did when I was a kid—seemingly undisturbed.

It can’t be this fucking easy.

I nod to Leo, and we keep our steps casual as we walk deeper into the room. In the corner is a desk, and I move toward it, reaching below the oak lip to grab the key I know is there.

When I have the drawer open, I pull out reams and reams of paper—receipts, notes—and scatter them on the tabletop. Nameless Two sorts through the mess while Nameless One opens a crate.

“Anything there?” I ask.

Nameless One grunts.

Rolling my eyes, I pull at the false bottom of the drawer, pulling out an armful of items. A gallon-sized bag full of pills, two handguns, stacks of cash, passports with my father’s picture under several aliases, and a few other miscellaneous items.

The Nameless crew goes through everything when my hand pauses on a plastic card.

I shine my flashlight on it and steel myself against the sharp kick of emotion. My mother’s ID is in the pile.

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