The estate grounds, usually a picture of perfection, felt vast and unwelcoming in the early morning darkness. The air was filled with the sharp scents of pine and damp earth. They ran across the main lawn, their feet quietly crunching on the gravel path, staying hidden in the thick shadows of the hundred-year-old oak trees. Julian's voice from the sealed library door had talked about paralysis, but out here, moving, Elara felt none of that.
"The service road," Seraphina whispered, pulling Elara toward the eastern edge where neat hedges gave way to wild overgrowth. "It's been closed for ten years. It runs alongside the main road, but it's totally dark."
They pushed through a thicket of wild roses and juniper bushes. "Security is focused on the perimeter," Seraphina whispered. "He watches the front gate and the mansion, but he ignores the edges. This was Father's old hunting path."
They awkwardly climbed through a weak spot in the rusty barbed-wire fence. Beyond it lay the real service road: cracked asphalt covered in moss and weeds, leading into dense woods.
"We're free," Elara said, checking the scratches on her arm. "Now what? We're an hour's walk from the nearest highway. We need a car."
Seraphina paused, a faint, predatory smile on her lips. "We need a car that isn't registered, isn't tracked, and doesn't have a key locked up in the main house." Her cold intelligence was unexpected.
She started down the decaying service road, walking with confidence. Elara followed closely, clutching the rolled-up contract—Julian's fake evidence—like a charm.
Soon, they reached the indistinct shape of the old groundskeeper's shed and carriage house.
"This was Giles's workshop," Seraphina said. "Julian tried to bulldoze this place, but Father protected it as a 'historical structure' in the last few months of his life. I think he knew Julian would need someone to stand against him."
Inside the shed, in the back corner and partially covered by a tarpaulin, sat a vehicle: a 1980s heavy-duty utility truck, painted military olive green.
"The old Land Rover," Elara exclaimed, a wave of childhood memories flooding back.
"Exactly," Seraphina said, tracing a groove under the dashboard. "It has a completely mechanical ignition system. No key fob, no GPS."
She opened a small metal panel beneath the glove compartment. Inside, wrapped in aged foam, were two items: a rusty key and a thin, worn ledger bound in leather.
Seraphina pocketed the key and handed the ledger to Elara. "Father's maintenance log. He recorded every mile, every service, and every security code Giles used."
Elara recognized her father's neat handwriting. Near the end, written in bold ink, was a section titled: SERVICE GATE EXIT SEQUENCE.
"I have the code," Elara said, her hands shaking slightly.
Seraphina climbed into the driver's seat. The engine sputtered and roared to life. She turned on the headlights, filling the cab with the smell of hot diesel and old leather.
"Get in. Time for some urban scavenging," Seraphina ordered.
The Land Rover rattled down the service road toward the city's industrial waterfront. As the first hints of gray appeared in the sky, they drove in tense, silent reflection.
Finally, Elara broke the quiet, her gaze fixed on the contract.
"Seraphina, we need to discuss the scale of this," Elara said. "If we expose Julian using this forged contract, we ruin the Thorne Gallery's reputation. Our family name, and Father's work… it will be gone."
Seraphina tightened her grip on the steering wheel. "And if we don't, we're finished. If Julian sells the fake, he'll use that money to buy the Gallery at a fire sale he planned, and we'll spend the next decade in court. Julian's set up a path where the only honorable escape leads to complete defeat. We have to choose a dishonorable victory."
"The Medusa is worthless without the contracts," Seraphina continued, practical and cold. "Julian's power lies in paperwork. We have his first set of fake documents—the bait. We need to destroy his second set, the contract he plans to use for the real forgery, and seize the painting itself. Our goal has to be total, irrecoverable sabotage."
"So what's the plan for the warehouse?" Elara asked, accepting the shift in their moral landscape.
"Julian's vault is in the sub-basement of the Thorne Holdings Logistics Center, down by Pier 7," Seraphina explained. "He'll rely on cameras and timing. He'll never expect us to arrive here three hours early in this truck."
They turned onto a series of dark back streets.
"We need access to the loading bay. That will avoid the main lobby security. The code should be in Father's ledger, but it might be outdated."
Elara skimmed the ledger. "July 2015. Loading Dock 3: sequence '9973-H' followed by a twelve-second pause, then today's date in reverse, added to the last three digits of the humidity reading in the storage bay."
"He automated the codes. We need something simpler," Seraphina muttered.
Elara found a section labeled EMERGENCY ACCESS—HARDWARE. "Wait. January 2016. Father had a manual bypass put in for the hydraulic system on the main cargo door. It needs two things: a specific frequency burst and a precise amount of counter-torque on the manual lock."
Seraphina looked down at the old key she had found. It wasn't a car key; it was a wrench with an antique silver whistle attached to the handle.
"It's a multi-tool," Seraphina said softly. "The wrench for the torque. The whistle for the frequency burst."
They arrived at the Thorne Holdings Logistics Center. Seraphina, using the hefty wrench for leverage, located the hidden manual lock. Elara stood ready, whistle in hand.
"All right, Elara. On my mark. The whistle needs to be steady—Father wrote 'three seconds, no waver' in the ledger," Seraphina instructed.
"Now."
Elara blew. The sound wasn't a sharp shriek but a low, resonant tone that seemed to shake the concrete. It lasted exactly three seconds.
As soon as the sound stopped, a clunk echoed from the wall. The giant hydraulic lock on the cargo door released. Seraphina pushed the door, which creaked open enough for them to slip inside.
They found the sub-basement lift and went down into the cold, quiet depths. The doors opened onto a short hallway, ending at a thick vault door of shiny steel.
Seraphina approached the vault, which had a biometric scanner and a keypad. A plain nameplate read: J.T. — REGRET.
Below the nameplate, an electronic display flashed a message in urgent red text:
ACCESS DENIED. PRIMARY AUTHENTICATION REQUIRED.
ENTER 5-DIGIT CODE, OR INSERT EVIDENCE TO INITIATE LOCKDOWN/DESTRUCTION SEQUENCE.
The vault door had a slot for a rolled-up sheet of paper.
"Destruction sequence? He expected us. He knew we'd bring the evidence," Elara realized. "He's betting on our fear of losing it."
"So we need the code," Elara said, looking at the keypad. "What five digits would Julian choose to embarrass us?"
Seraphina recalled Julian's jabs about their father. "He always resented the date Father bought his first truly priceless piece—the foundation of the Gallery's reputation."
"The first acquisition," Elara murmured, pulling the date from memory. "August 14th, 1971. He needs five."
"1-4-7-7-1," Elara suddenly exclaimed. "The 14th, 7th month, and the last two digits of the year '71,' but in the wrong order. It's Julian's trademark arrogance. He twists Father's triumph into his own five-digit password."
Seraphina nodded and quickly entered the sequence on the keypad: 1-4-7-7-1.
The red text vanished. The panel lit up green and another message appeared:
ACCESS GRANTED. SECONDARY AUTHENTICATION REQUIRED. TAPE SCAN ACTIVE.
A small, high-intensity laser scanned the input slot.
"The forgery is inert," Seraphina said with frustration. "He's making us think we succeeded, but he has one last layer of security."
She stared at the contract in Elara's hand. It was secured not with a seal, but with a thin band of black plastic tape.
"The tape is the key, Elara," Seraphina said, lowering her voice. "The forgery we have, the very evidence we need to convict him, has to be destroyed to unlock the door."
She grabbed the contract and, in one swift motion, ripped the thin black tape holding the fake parchment together. The fragile document began to come apart immediately. Seraphina inserted the short strip of black archival tape into the vault slot. The laser scanned the tape. The mechanism hummed, gears shifted, and the large steel door started to open.
LOCKDOWN OVERRIDDEN. WELCOME HOME, J.T.
The vault was small and bright. At the center, on a velvet stand, sat the genuine, antique contract scroll of the Regret of Medusa—unforged, pristine, and irreplaceable.
But as the door opened, the display panel changed again, and a voice—Julian's smooth, mocking voice—filled the chamber.
"Welcome, ladies. I knew you couldn't resist. You had to sacrifice the forgery to reach the truth. Now you must make one final, impossible choice. You have just triggered the automated liquidation of the entire Thorne Gallery collection. The moment that door opened, the auction sequence began."
Seraphina and Elara stood frozen at the threshold of the vault. Destroying the forgery had set off the destruction of everything they had fought to protect. Julian's last cruel masterpiece was the perfect, calculated end to their family's legacy.
"The next item up for bid is lot 45, the Cuneiform Tablets of Nebuchadnezzar…" The smooth voice from a hidden speaker confirmed Julian's warning: the liquidation had begun.