Framed by a mysterious glass sphere in a locked study, a disgraced WWII investigator must outsmart his military mentor.
Arthur’s mind raced, connecting the dots between Helena, her murdered brother, and Garrick’s elaborate scheme. It was far deeper than simple fraud. It was a cover-up stretching back years, built on blood and betrayal.
“The key,” Arthur urged Silas. “Give me the key to Garrick’s vault.”
Silas fumbled in his pocket, his hand shaking. “It’s… it’s for Supply Vault 4. That’s where he keeps his personal archives. But there’s something else. Hallowell. He didn’t want to help Garrick. He was forced.”
“Forced?” Arthur asked, remembering Hallowell’s desperate pleas.
Silas nodded quickly, his eyes darting towards the dilapidated entrance of the streetcar barn. “Garrick found out Hallowell forged war indemnity certificates in 1943. Small stuff, to help his impoverished family, but Garrick twisted it into wartime treason. Threatened to have his wife and children tried as collaborators.”
Arthur felt a pang of grim recognition. Garrick knew how to find the weakness in every man, how to exploit it with surgical precision. Hallowell’s family, Clara’s fear – Garrick specialized in turning a man’s love into his greatest vulnerability.
Silas pulled a small, brass key from his pocket, holding it out. “This will open it. But you have to be careful. Garrick knows I’ve been feeding you information. He’s been watching my mail.”
Before Arthur could take the key, a sharp hiss filled the air. A grey canister rolled into the barn from the main entrance, spewing thick, acrid smoke. Tear gas.
“Military Police!” a voice boomed from outside. “Come out with your hands up!”
Silas yelped, dropping the key. He started coughing violently, his eyes tearing up.
Arthur swore. Garrick had anticipated this. He had known Silas would break. This was another trap, designed to catch them both.
He dropped to his knees, frantically patting the dusty floor for the key, the acrid gas already stinging his eyes and throat. He heard the heavy thud of boots entering the barn.
“We have to move, now!” Arthur yelled, the words catching in his throat. He had to get Silas out. He had to get that key.
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