Chapter 8
A cool, damp draft billowed up from the stairwell, carrying the faint, metallic scent of old dust and stagnant water. Clara gripped the banister tightly, descending the wooden steps one by one into the absolute darkness.
Her heart pounded against her ribs like a trapped bird, but her resolve remained completely unshaken. She flicked on the small flashlight beam of her mobile phone, sweeping the narrow beam across the stone walls.
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Boxes of old corporate ledgers, broken antique furniture, and discarded paintings lined the long corridor. But at the very end of the hall stood a heavy iron-reinforced door fitted with a modern digital keypad lock.
Clara approached the reinforced door slowly, shining her light across the keypad. To her utter astonishment, a small sticky note was attached to the frame with a sequence of four numbers scribbled in hurried handwriting.
