Locked in Her Late Husband's Secret Vault: A Widow's Trap at $4,200-a-Night Vail Retreat
👉 Previous Action: You chose to search the guest house for hidden surveillance hardware after detecting a hidden camera in the cellar.
The heavy footsteps above spurred me into action. There was a narrow side-exit from the cellar, rarely used, leading directly to the freezing mountain night. Julian and Chloe watched, frozen, as I slipped through it, pulling the heavy door almost shut behind me.
The air bit at my exposed skin. I moved through the crisp Vail night, crunching over snow-dusted gravel towards the detached guest cabin. A faint light flickered inside.
I pushed the unlocked door open silently, stepping into the cabin’s dark living area. The only illumination came from a laptop screen on a desk, casting a pale glow over scattered papers. A man, his back to me, was hunched over, examining some documents.
Adrenaline surged. I moved without thinking, seizing him from behind, pinning his arm behind his back and pressing him against the wall. He grunted, a sharp intake of breath.
“Who are you?” I demanded, my voice low and fierce. “What are you doing here?”
He struggled for a moment, then went limp. “Whoa, whoa! Easy! I’m Grant Connolly.”
I didn’t release my grip. “Grant Connolly? What does Eleanor DeWitt’s guest house have to do with you?”
He winced, shifting his weight. “Eleanor DeWitt? I’m an investigative journalist. I’ve been tracking DeWitt Holdings for months. Specifically, their offshore shell accounts, the ones connected to about $25,000,000 in tax fraud.”
My grip faltered slightly. He pulled a wallet from his pocket, expertly flipping it open to a press ID. The photo matched his face, rugged and intense.
“I track paper trails,” he continued, speaking quickly. “Not people. Look, I found this place linked to one of her shell companies. I thought it was a dead end until I saw someone lurking around the cellar door last night.”
He pointed to the papers on the desk. Property deeds. I recognized the DeWitt Holdings crest.
“I found wire logs,” he said, tapping a screen. “Arthur DeWitt’s estate. Stripped bare. Every penny. Forty-eight hours after his funeral.”
My stomach clenched. “Stripped bare?”
He nodded, a grim expression on his face. “Officially, it was a rapid liquidation to cover ‘unexpected liabilities’. Unofficially, it looks like a clean-up. Someone wanted his assets gone, fast.”
He looked at me, his gaze sharp. “What are you doing here, Mrs. DeWitt? I heard you were in deep mourning in Connecticut.”
The cellar, the camera, Croft’s card, Arthur’s birthdate, the stripped estate. It all began to coalesce into something far more sinister than grief-fueled delusion.
Choose your next action
Share your cellar findings with Grant and team up to open the vault. — Read CHAPTER 5 to continue
Call Eleanor directly on a secure line to demand an immediate explanation. — Read CHAPTER 6 to continue
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