Chapter 157

Chapter 157
[Claire's POV]

The mechanical click still echoed in my ears as Samantha and I stared at the bookshelf. For a moment, neither of us moved.

"Help me push it," Samantha said, her voice tight with controlled excitement.

I grabbed the edge of the wooden shelf. Together we pulled, and it slid outward with surprising smoothness, as if it had been designed to move. Behind it, a rectangular compartment was carved into the wall.

My heart hammered against my ribs. This was it. This had to be it.

Samantha reached for the wooden panel covering the compartment. She lifted it carefully, revealing what lay inside.

A lock. An old-fashioned keyhole stared back at us, dark and empty.

The excitement drained from my chest like water through a sieve. "It needs a key." My voice came out flat, defeated. "Where the hell are we supposed to find a key?"

Samantha stayed quiet for a moment, studying the lock mechanism. Then she straightened. "The key should be nearby."

"Why?" I turned to her, frustration bleeding into my tone.

"This compartment holds something valuable enough for Benjamin to hide it." Samantha's fingers traced the edge of the lock. "He wouldn't keep the key far away. Either he carried it on him, or it's hidden somewhere in this house."

A cold knot formed in my stomach. "What if Adrian took it?"

Samantha shook her head. She ran her finger along the compartment's edge, examining the dust. "Look at this. No one's opened this in months. The CSI team didn't find it, and when the police searched Benjamin's body, they found no keys except his house and car keys."

She glanced at me. "The key is still here somewhere."

"Then we need to find it," I said.

We searched the basement study methodically. I went through Benjamin's desk drawers again, feeling behind each one for anything taped to the wood. Samantha checked the bookshelf supports, the floor molding, even the light fixtures.

Fifteen minutes passed. Then thirty. Then forty-five.

I pulled out my phone again. 4:32 PM.

My hands were shaking. I wiped sweat from my forehead despite the basement's chill. Every minute that ticked by felt like Marcus slipping further away from saving his career. From proving he was right to trust me.

"Nothing," Samantha said quietly. She'd just finished checking the last section of the bookshelf.

I looked around the basement study. We'd been over every inch of this room. The key wasn't here.

"If I were Benjamin," I said slowly, "and I had something this important to hide... I wouldn't keep the key in the same room as the lock."

Samantha met my eyes. "Where would you keep it?"

I thought about it. Benjamin was paranoid enough to cut his phone lines ten years ago. Paranoid enough to lock himself in his basement and refuse to let even his best friend inside. If he had something precious enough to hide in a locked compartment...

"His bedroom," I said. "The most private space in the house."

Samantha nodded. "Let's go."

---

Benjamin's bedroom was on the second floor. I pushed open the door, and the simplicity struck me immediately. A bed. A nightstand. A closet. Nothing else.

No decorations. No photographs. No personality.

It was like looking at a hotel room.

"Start with the closet," Samantha said.

We pulled open the closet door. Benjamin's clothes hung neatly—mostly dark colors, simple cuts. I ran my hands along each shelf, checking for false bottoms. Samantha examined each piece of clothing, feeling the pockets and seams.

Nothing.

We moved to the bed. I stripped the sheets while Samantha lifted the mattress. We checked the box spring, felt along the bed frame, examined every corner.

Still nothing.

I sat back on my heels, my chest tight with frustration. We'd been searching for over an hour now. The clock in my head kept ticking louder and louder.

4:51 PM.

My phone buzzed. A text from Marcus: Any progress?

I stared at the screen. What could I tell him? That we'd found a locked compartment but no key? That we were running out of places to look?

I didn't respond.

"Claire." Samantha's voice was gentle. "We'll find it."

"Will we?" I looked at her. "Maybe the key isn't here. Maybe—"

"It's here," she said firmly. "We just haven't looked in the right place yet."

But we were running out of places. The bedroom was almost bare. Just the bed, the closet, and the nightstand.

The nightstand.

I crawled toward it on my knees. It was a simple wooden piece, probably older than Benjamin's death. I'd already checked the drawer—empty except for dust. But I hadn't checked...

I bent down, peering underneath. The four legs were solid wood, each carved with simple grooves.

Wait.

One of the legs looked different. Not much—just a slight discoloration where the wood grain changed. And there, near the bottom—a hairline crack forming a perfect square.

My heart started pounding again.

I pressed my palm against the wood panel, hard. For a second, nothing happened. Then I felt something give way.

Thunk.

A small rectangular piece of wood dropped to the floor with a sharp clatter.

I froze. Samantha's head snapped toward me.

"Claire?"

I couldn't speak. My hand was shaking as I grabbed my phone and turned on the flashlight. I aimed the beam into the hollow space inside the nightstand leg.

Something white gleamed back at me.

Paper.

I reached in carefully, my fingers closing around a folded piece of paper. It was old, the edges slightly yellowed. I pulled it out and unfolded it with trembling hands.

Benjamin's handwriting stared back at me, neat and precise: The key is in the attic corner.

For a moment, I just stared at the words. Then I started laughing—a breathless, slightly hysterical sound.

Samantha moved closer, reading over my shoulder. A small smile crossed her face. "He really liked his little detective games, didn't he?"

"Like he was testing us," I said. The laughter died in my throat, replaced by exhaustion. Link after link after link. It was like Benjamin had set up an obstacle course, and we were still running it even after his death.

But we were close now. So close.

I stood up, paper clutched in my fist. My legs felt weak, my body heavy with fatigue. But there was also something else—a spark of determination that wouldn't let me stop.

"The attic," I said.

Samantha nodded, already heading for the door. "Let's finish this."