Chapter 3 – THE VOICE IN THE DARK

Panic erupted in the darkness.

Guests screamed, overturning chairs and dropping glass flutes that shattered against the marble floor. I was pushed against the side of the grand piano.

“Maya!” I yelled, reaching out blindly.

A small, trembling hand grabbed my apron. I pulled the twelve-year-old girl against me, shielding her body with mine.

“I’m here,” Maya cried, burying her face in my shoulder.

“Don’t move,” Jonathan’s voice sounded right beside me. I heard the distinctive click of a lighter, and a small orange flame illuminated his sharp, panicked features. He was holding his phone, but the screen displayed a bold “NO SIGNAL.”

“They cut the cell towers with a jammer,” Jonathan muttered. He looked toward the stage where Camille had been standing.

She was gone.

“The voice on the speakers,” I whispered, keeping my arm tight around Maya. “I recognize it. It’s Arthur Pendelton.”

Jonathan’s eyes widened in the flickering lighter fluid. “My father’s lawyer? Arthur retired five years ago.”

“He didn’t retire, Jonathan. He just stopped working for you.” I pointed toward the red cello case, barely visible in the dim light. “Arthur drafted the foundation’s original charter. He knew every loophole. He knew how to hide the money.”

Suddenly, the ballroom chandeliers flickered on, glowing at a dim twenty percent. The emergency backup generator had kicked in.

The guests were huddled against the locked doors, frantically banging on the wood.

I looked down at Maya. She was terrified, but she was clutching something tightly in her left hand. It was the heavy brass tuning fork.

“Maya, where did Camille go?” Jonathan asked gently.

Maya pointed a shaking finger toward the back of the stage, behind the velvet curtains. “There’s a service elevator. She went through the panels.”

“We have to get out of here before Arthur figures out we have the toxicology report,” Jonathan said, gripping the manila envelope.

I shook my head, stepping toward the red cello case. “No. Arthur didn’t lock us in here to trap us. He locked us in here to buy time.”

“Time for what?”

“To destroy the real evidence.” I reached into my leather tool bag and pulled out a long, flat steel tension wrench. “The money and the report are just the symptoms, Jonathan. If Arthur is willing to trap two hundred of Chicago’s wealthiest people in a room, there is something much bigger hidden in this building.”

“The basement,” Maya whispered.

We both looked at her.

“What about the basement, sweetheart?” I asked.

Maya swallowed hard. “When they brought me here to practice pretending to play the violin… I got lost. I went down the stairs by the kitchen. I saw Ms. Pierce and a man in a suit burning papers in the old incinerator.”

Jonathan’s jaw tightened. “The trust documents. They’re destroying the original will.”

“We need to get the doors open,” I said, moving toward the grand exit.

But as I took a step, a loud, mechanical hum vibrated through the floorboards.

The air conditioning vents above us hissed loudly. A thick, white smoke began pouring into the locked ballroom.

Jonathan coughed, covering his mouth. “It’s not smoke… it’s halon gas. The fire suppression system. It pulls oxygen out of the air.”

People began to scream as the air grew thin.

I looked at the heavy brass tuning fork in Maya’s hand.

“Give me that,” I told her, snatching my heavy steel tuning hammer from my bag. “Jonathan, get Maya to the floor where there’s more air! I’m going to break the glass on the emergency release!”

I ran toward the wall panel, but a figure stepped out of the shadows, blocking my path. It was one of the security guards.

But he wasn’t looking at me. He raised a heavy black flashlight, aiming it squarely at Jonathan’s head.

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