Chapter 7 - The Midnight Break-In
Twenty-four hours later, a dark sedan pulled up to the curb half a block away from a luxury high-rise building on Manhattan’s Upper East Side.
I sat in the passenger seat, wearing a dark coat and a black beanie, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Returning to New York was a massive legal risk. If Grant’s team found out I was in the city, they could serve me with legal papers immediately or claim I was stalking his property. But I had no choice. The court hearing for emergency custody was scheduled in forty-eight hours. This was my only chance.
Beside me in the driver’s seat was Maya—my closest friend from college and a brilliant freelance cybersecurity consultant.
“Are you sure about this, Sarah?” Maya asked, checking her laptop screen. “If the doorman spots you, he’ll call the building manager, and Grant will know within five minutes.”
“The night doorman is Arthur,” I said softly. “He’s worked here for twelve years. He knows how Grant treated me. He’s the one who used to help me carry grocery bags upstairs when Grant would leave me stranded without cash.”
I took a deep breath, slipped the key card into my pocket, and stepped out of the car into the biting New York cold.
I entered the lobby through the side service entrance. Arthur, an elderly man with gray hair and a warm smile, was sitting at the front desk. When he saw me walk in, his eyes widened in shock.
“Mrs. Holloway?” he whispered, standing up immediately. “What are you doing here? Mr. Holloway told everyone you left the country!”
“Arthur, please,” I begged, my voice trembling. “I’m here to save my daughter. I just need ten minutes in the apartment.”
Arthur looked at me for a long, heavy moment. He looked at the security camera monitors, then back at me. He reached beneath the desk, quietly flipped a switch that disabled the hallway motion sensors on the 14th floor for fifteen minutes, and stepped aside.
“You have twelve minutes, Sarah,” Arthur said quietly. “The security patrol comes by at 1:15 AM.”
“Thank you, Arthur,” I whispered, rushing toward the elevator.
The elevator ride to the 14th floor felt endless. When the doors slid open, the corridor was dark and silent. I walked quickly to Door 14B—the home I had lived in for eight years, the home that had felt like a golden cage.
My fingers trembled as I touched the key card to the electronic lock. Beep. The light turned green. I slipped inside and closed the door soundlessly behind me.
The apartment smelled like stale cigar smoke and cheap perfume—Vanessa’s scent. Clothes were strewn across the marble floor, and empty wine bottles covered the kitchen counter. Grant’s life was already decaying from the inside out.
I rushed to the master bedroom, walked into the walk-in closet, and pushed aside Grant’s expensive suits until I reached the small, steel safe built into the back wall.
I pulled out the paper Mark had sent me and entered the code: 08-12-18—the date Grant had secured his first ten-million-dollar investment.
Click.
The heavy steel door swung open.
Inside sat stacks of hundred-dollar bills, three luxury watches, and in the far corner, a sleek black encrypted thumb drive attached to a steel key ring.
I grabbed the thumb drive immediately. But as I went to reach for the financial ledgers sitting beneath it, I heard a sound that made my blood run cold.
The electronic lock on the front door beeped.
The front door opened, and heavy footsteps echoed through the hardwood entryway, accompanied by a loud, angry voice.
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“I don't care what the board says, Vanessa!” Grant’s voice roared from the hallway. “We are clearing out the off-shore accounts tonight before the judge freezes them!”
I was trapped inside the closet.
