Chapter 6 - The Siege of Financial Center
By 11:00 AM, the historic skyline of Boston rose out of the coastal fog.
The city was wrapped in a brilliant white blanket of winter snow, its brick streets crowded with snowplows, pedestrians in heavy coats, and holiday traffic.
Clara parked the battered, dented Ford truck in an underground public parking garage four blocks away from the Financial District. She replaced her blood-spluttered license plates with a set of stolen state plates she had kept under her workbench, ensuring the vehicle couldn't be tracked by city traffic cameras.
"We move on foot from here," Clara instructed, handing Nell and Nora warm knitted hats that covered their distinctive brown hair. "Harrison knows we're in the city. He’ll have his private security team watching the front entrance of the First National Bank."
"How do we get inside without being seen?" Arthur asked, holding Nora’s hand tightly.
"The old sub-basement tunnels," Arthur replied, his eyes lighting up with his knowledge of historical architecture. "The First National Bank of Boston was built in 1912 over the old transit vaults. There is a historical maintenance entrance through the basement of the Boston Athenæum library on Beacon Street."
Clara smiled warmly at him. "See? I knew keeping an old history professor around would pay off."
Ten minutes later, the small group slipped through the quiet, mahogany-lined reading rooms of the Boston Athenæum. Arthur, using his old faculty credentials, guided them down into the archives sub-basement, past stacks of eighteenth-century legal manuscripts, to a heavy iron access door marked TRANSIT VAULT - 1912.
Arthur pulled out a brass skeleton key he had borrowed from the library’s archivist twenty years ago during his dissertation research. He inserted it into the rusted lock, turned it with a heavy CLICK, and pushed the door open.
A warm, dry draft of air blew out from the brick-lined tunnel ahead.
They walked single-file through the subterranean passage, the distant rumble of the city’s subway trains echoing through the walls. After three hundred yards, the brick tunnel ended at a massive, polished steel security door bearing the golden seal of the First National Bank Vault Division.
Standing beside the door was an elderly security guard in a crisp navy uniform, sitting behind a bulletproof glass station.
"Can I help you?" the guard asked through the speaker, looking surprised to see a professor, a stern woman, and two small girls emerge from the historical tunnel.
Arthur stepped up to the glass. "We require immediate access to Private Vault 408. Belonging to the Estate of Julian Sterling."
The guard’s demeanor changed instantly. His hands drifted toward an alarm button beneath his desk. "Vault 408 is under a corporate legal hold requested by Harrison Sterling—"
Before the guard could press the button, Clara stepped forward, pressing her federal press credentials and a court injunction document she had forged during the night against the glass.
"If you press that button, son," Clara said in her deadliest tone, "you will be interfering with a federal grand jury investigation regarding the kidnapping and attempted murder of two minor heirs. Check the vault's master protocol."
The guard swallowed hard. He looked at Clara’s stern face, then down at Nell, who reached up and held the brass falcon key against the glass window.
The guard’s eyes widened. He recognized the key.
He pressed the door release button.
May you like
PNEUMATIC HISS.
The massive two-ton steel vault door swung open, granting them access to the carpeted, silent depths of the Sterling private vault sanctuary.
