Chapter 5 - Breaking the Lock
The iron crowbar groaned under the sudden, massive strain. Metal screeched against metal as the heavy steel door resisted, the reinforced bolts holding firm against the frame.
"Come on..." Emma muttered through gritted teeth, sweat beading on her forehead as she strained every muscle in her arms and back.
Crack!
A loud pop echoed down the corridor as the interior locking mechanism shattered under the torque. The heavy steel door swung inward with a heavy thud, releasing a cloud of dust and stale air.
Ethan scrambled backward in surprise, then let out a sob of pure relief, launching himself forward and throwing his small arms around Emma’s waist.
"You did it! You got it open!" he cried, burying his face in her uniform apron.
"Shh, keep your voice down, sweet boy," Emma said, kneeling down and wrapping her arms tightly around him. She checked him over quickly—he was freezing, exhausted, and hungry, but thankfully unharmed aside from bruises and sheer terror. "We don't have much time. Let's get that journal, and then we are getting out of this house."
She scooped Ethan up into her arms—he was dangerously light from days of starvation—and carried him over to the metal table.
She reached down and grabbed the black leather journal. As she flipped open the cover, the pages fell open to reveal a horrifying blueprint of calculated malice.
Written in Isabella’s immaculate, sweeping cursive were detailed notes outlining a step-by-step takeover of the Sterling estate. There were bank account transfer numbers, forged medical records diagnosing Ethan with a "severe psychological regression requiring isolation," and—most damning of all—detailed entries about William Sterling himself, including subtle doses of heavy sedatives Isabella had been mixing into his nightly whiskey to keep him compliant and trusting.
"This is it," Emma whispered, a cold fury rising in her chest. "This is everything we need."
She tucked the journal securely into the deep pocket of her housekeeping apron, then wrapped her spare cleaning jacket around Ethan’s trembling shoulders.
"Can you walk, buddy?" she asked gently, setting him back on his feet.
Ethan nodded bravely, clutching the sleeves of the oversized jacket around his hands. "Yes. I want to see my dad."
"We'll find him," Emma said, taking his small hand in hers. "Together."
They slipped out of the cell and hurried down the corridor toward the concrete stairs. But just as they reached the foot of the stairwell, the sound of heavy, hurried footsteps above made them freeze.
"Isabella? Isabella, where are you?"
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It wasn't a woman’s voice echoing down the shaft.
It was William Sterling.
