Chapter 4 - The Ghost at the Morgue
Beneath the industrial outskirts of the city lay the Vance family’s old subterranean communications bunker, known simply as the Foundry. Reinforced with two feet of blast-resistant concrete and equipped with independent power and satellite relays, it had remained untouched for fifteen years.
Julian left the girls in the care of Sarah and a squad of trusted guards before slipping out into the rainy night with Marcus. He wore a dark wool coat, his hair soaked, slipping into the rear entrance of the County Medical Examiner’s office through an access code provided by a compromised mortician on his payroll.
The basement morgue smelled of formaldehyde and damp stone. Julian walked down the aisle of stainless-steel coolers until he reached Bay 4. On the autopsy table lay the body recovered from the burning dock warehouse, covered by a white plastic sheet.
Julian’s hand shook as he reached for the hem of the sheet. For four years, he had believed Elena abandoned him because she fell out of love, a lie carefully engineered by Victoria through forged letters and manipulated bank transfers. If Elena was under this sheet, dead because of his blind stupidity, he knew he would never forgive himself.
He pulled the sheet back.
The burns were severe across the torso and arms, but the left wrist was visible. Julian stared at the charred skin. There was no scar. Five years ago, Elena had cut her left wrist on broken glass while helping him restore an old wooden sailboat; the surgical scar had been three inches long.
“It’s not her,” Julian whispered, a sudden, suffocating surge of adrenaline rushing through his veins. “Marcus, look at the jawline. Elena had dental reconstruction on her second molar after an accident in college. This isn't Elena.”
“A decoy,” Marcus muttered, checking his watch. “Sterling knew we would check the morgue. If you think she’s dead, you stop looking.”
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Suddenly, the steel door at the end of the morgue corridor slammed shut with a heavy mechanical click. The overhead lights flickered and died, plunging the room into absolute darkness. Over the intercom speaker on the wall, Victoria’s voice filtered through, cold and venomous:
“You always were too smart for your own good, darling. But you shouldn't have come alone.”
