Chapter 108 The Lockbox
Briar's POV
I stood in the conference room watching Eric orchestrate the final day of our four-day livestream marathon.
"We just hit twelve million in pre-orders," one of the marketing team members called out, her voice pitched high with excitement. "The Lunar Stabilizer hashtag is trending at number seven nationwide."
I nodded absently and turned away from the celebration, my attention already shifting to the stack of financial documents waiting on my desk. While Eric and the team had spent the past four days building hype and generating sales, I had been quietly digging through Vance Botanicals' transaction history looking for evidence of the money laundering operation I knew had to be there.
My phone buzzed with a text from Lucian: [Downstairs. Ready when you are.]
I grabbed my jacket and slipped out of the conference room, taking the elevator down to the lobby where several employees were clustered near the glass doors whispering and pointing at something outside. When I pushed through the entrance, I immediately understood why because Lucian's black SUV was parked directly in front of the building with him leaning against the driver's side door in dark jeans and a leather jacket.
"Show off," I muttered as I approached, unable to suppress the small smile tugging at my lips.
He opened the passenger door with an answering grin. "You're the one who wanted me to pick you up at work."
The drive took over an hour, the city giving way to suburbs then countryside. As we turned onto the gravel road to the Vance family cemetery, I spotted my father's silver sedan pulling out through the gates. Relief washed over me—we'd avoided an awkward encounter.
The cemetery was small and private, surrounded by a low stone wall and shaded by ancient oaks. My grandmother's grave sat near the back corner beneath one of those massive trees, marked by a simple granite headstone.
Someone had left fresh flowers recently—probably my father this morning. But they were the wrong flowers entirely. White roses and lilies that looked expensive and impersonal, nothing like the cheerful wildflowers my grandmother had always preferred.
I knelt on the grass and carefully removed the roses, setting them aside. "You see this, Grandma?" I said softly, arranging the wildflowers I'd picked up from the farmer's market. "Your son doesn't even remember what flowers you liked."
Lucian crouched beside me and placed a small potted lavender plant next to mine. The familiar scent filled the air—my grandmother had always kept lavender sachets in her drawers and closets, that clean herbal fragrance permeating every corner of the old house.
I took his hand, lacing our fingers together as I faced the headstone. "Grandma, I brought my mate to meet you. His name is Lucian, and he's everything you would have wanted for me."
After a long moment, we both bowed our heads in a formal gesture of respect, acknowledging the woman who had been the only stable presence in my chaotic childhood.
When we finally stood up, Lucian squeezed my hand gently. "Do you want me to stay, or would you rather have some time alone?"
"Go ahead," I said, managing a small smile. "I want to visit the old house for a bit."
He pressed a kiss to my temple before heading back toward the SUV. I watched him drive away, waiting until the sound of the engine had faded completely before turning and walking down the narrow dirt path that led to the Vance family estate.
The old house looked smaller than I remembered, white paint peeling, the porch sagging from neglect. I pushed open the ornate door and stepped into the foyer where dust motes danced in the afternoon light.
I walked through slowly, pausing in doorways as memories washed over me. The library where my grandfather had read by the fireplace. The kitchen where my grandmother had taught me to bake cookies, her laughter filling the room.
The old swing set still stood in the backyard, chains rusted, seat weathered gray. I sat down carefully, letting the gentle motion carry me. I could almost hear my grandmother calling from the kitchen window, her voice warm and full of love.
My eyes burned with unshed tears as I dragged my feet in the dirt to stop the swing. I climbed the stairs to the second floor and walked down the hallway to my old bedroom, pushing open the door to find everything exactly as I had left it when I went away to college.
I lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, half-expecting to catch a whiff of my grandmother's lavender sachets, but the sheets just smelled musty and old. My phone buzzed with an incoming call, and I fumbled to pull it out only to have it slip from my fingers and tumble down into the narrow gap between the bed and the wall.
I grabbed the bed frame and pulled, dragging it away from the wall with a screech of wood against hardwood floor. The phone was there on the dusty floorboards, but something else caught my eye in the shadows—something metallic and rectangular tucked against the baseboard where it would have been completely hidden by the bed.
I reached down and pulled it out, my fingers closing around cool metal that had the weight and heft of something substantial. A rose-gold lockbox about the size of a shoebox, its surface engraved with delicate floral patterns that I recognized immediately as my grandmother's favorite design.
My hands trembled slightly as I found the digital keypad on the front. I typed in my birthday, the numbers I had used for every password since I was old enough to have them. The lock clicked open with a soft mechanical sound.
The lockbox opened in three layers like a jewelry case. The top layer held my grandmother's jewelry collection, pearls and sapphires and emeralds that caught the light. The second layer contained gold bars, each one stamped with official mint marks. I counted six of them, each weighing at least a pound.
The third layer was locked with a separate mechanism, a small circular keyhole that looked like it required something specific. I was about to close the box when I noticed a small piece of paper tucked beneath one of the jade bracelets in the top layer. I pulled it out carefully, unfolding the yellowed paper to reveal my grandfather's distinctive handwriting.
[My little Briar, you are such a smart and strong child. I know that whatever challenges life throws at you, you will face them with courage and grace. But even the strongest people need a safety net sometimes. This is your safety net. You always have an escape route. That little doll—]
The sentence cut off abruptly, the ink trailing into a smudge as if he had been interrupted mid-thought. I read it three times, my vision blurring as tears spilled down my cheeks.
My grandfather had known that someday I would find myself trapped and desperate with nowhere to turn. He had left me a way out.
That little doll. What doll?
My gaze swept across the room until my eyes landed on my keychain lying on the bed. The small metal wolf dangling from the ring, the one my grandfather had given me for my tenth birthday. I picked it up and examined it more closely, running my thumb over the smooth metal surface until I found a small seam along the wolf's back leg.
I twisted it gently and the leg came free, revealing a thin metal rod with a uniquely shaped tip that looked exactly like it would fit the lock on the third layer.
My hands shook as I inserted the makeshift key into the lock, holding my breath as I turned it slowly. The mechanism clicked and the third layer popped open, revealing a leather document folder and a small photo album.
I pulled out the album first, flipping through pages of photographs that chronicled my life from birth to about age fourteen. My mother holding me as a newborn. My grandparents teaching me to walk in the backyard. The photos stopped abruptly after my mother's death, as if someone had decided there was nothing left worth documenting.
I set the album aside and reached for the document folder, unzipping it carefully. Inside were property deeds to several houses I had never heard of, stock certificates for companies I didn't recognize, and a thick legal document that had the formal weight of something official and binding.
I pulled out the legal document and began reading, my eyes scanning over the dense paragraphs until I reached the section that made my heart stop completely.
Last Will and Testament of Robert Vance
I, Robert Vance, being of sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath the following assets to my granddaughter, Briar Vance: All shares of Vance Botanicals held in my name, totaling forty percent of company ownership, to be transferred to Briar Vance upon her twenty birthday or upon the event of my death, whichever comes first. My son, Marcus Vance, shall receive no inheritance of company shares or voting rights.
The document slipped from my fingers as I sat frozen on the floor of my childhood bedroom, my mind struggling to process what I had just read.
Forty percent. My grandfather had left me forty percent of Vance Botanicals, and my father had no inheritance rights whatsoever.