Chapter 6 - Secrets Beneath the Floorboards
Thirty minutes later, I parked my SUV two blocks away from Sarah’s townhouse. The police tape was still fluttering across the front porch, but the morning shift detectives had temporarily stepped away to interview neighbors down the street.
Keeping out of sight, I slipped around the back of the house, popped the latch on the wooden fence, and made my way to the basement storm cellar doors. They were unlocked—likely left that way by the police when they initially searched the property.
I pulled the heavy metal doors open and descended into the dark, damp basement.
The air smelled of old cardboard, dust, and something metallic—like rust or dried paint. I clicked on the flashlight app on my phone, sweeping the beam across stacks of plastic storage bins, old children’s toys, and broken furniture.
Nothing looked out of the ordinary.
I walked deeper into the cellar, shining the light along the concrete foundation walls. That was when I noticed a strange discrepancy. The wooden shelving unit against the back wall didn't sit flush against the concrete. There was a gap of about six inches, masked by a hanging canvas drop cloth.
I grabbed the edge of the heavy canvas and ripped it down.
Behind it was a small, reinforced steel door embedded directly into the concrete foundation. A digital keypad glowed faintly in the dark, its battery pack clicking quietly.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Sarah’s house had a hidden panic room—or a hidden vault.
I stepped closer to the keypad. I didn't know the code, but I noticed something else: a tiny USB port embedded beneath the numerical pad, with a flashing green light. Someone had recently plugged a data drive into it.
I pulled out my phone, plugged my lightning cable into a portable power bank, and used a micro-USB adapter I always carried in my briefcase to connect my phone directly to the port.
If there was data stored on that hidden terminal, my phone’s diagnostic tool might be able to mirror it.
BEEP.
A small screen on the vault door flashed: SYNC COMPLETE.
Files began downloading onto my phone at a blinding speed. Documents, scanned photographs, audio logs, and video files.
Before I could open them, a heavy footstep creaked on the floorboards directly above my head.
“I told you, Chief, the back door was secured,” a voice echoed from the kitchen upstairs. It was Detective Vance.
I froze, holding my breath, pressing my back flat against the concrete wall behind the shelving unit.
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“Check the basement again just to be thorough,” Vance’s voice called out.
Footsteps began descending the wooden basement stairs, slow and deliberate. The beam of a heavy-duty flashlight swept across the room, getting closer and closer to where I stood hiding in the shadows.
