Chapter 5 The Vivienne Ledger

The clock struck midnight, and thunder rolled over Cape Raven like the earth itself groaned under the weight of hidden truths.

Alora's hands trembled as she gripped the rusting wrought-iron gate leading to the Ashcombe private archives. Behind her, Faye crouched beside the electronic panel, her fingers dancing across a stolen access pad connected to a hacked portable device.

"Two minutes, max," Faye whispered, sweat dotting her brow. "Helen's biometric code won't hold long before the system pings a breach."

Alora kept watch, her eyes darting around the darkened corridor beneath the Ashcombe Library-marble walls lined with paintings worth millions and silence worth more than gold. Every footstep was an echo. Every breath felt borrowed.

The steel door clicked. Faye stood.

"Welcome," she said, rising to her full height, "to the belly of the beast."

Unlike the grandiose glamour of the mansion above, the archives felt like a surgical tomb. Sterile. Cold. Concrete walls sealed in with pressure locks. Inside were temperature-controlled glass cases, oil paintings half-unframed, crates of unregistered art, and drawers labeled in Latin and French-concealing a curated history of greed.

A motion-sensor light buzzed overhead.

Alora stepped into the vault.

"I used to think this place was just a legend," she whispered. "The forbidden basement. The room Helen always said didn't exist."

Faye smirked. "Lies built this house. And they're stacked neatly in these drawers."

She moved with purpose, heading straight toward a mahogany cabinet beneath a sculpture of a blindfolded saint. "Vivienne always marked her pieces with a sigil," she explained. "A letter V, interlaced with a raven's claw. It's not obvious-but once you see it, you never forget."

Alora joined her at the drawer. "So you think her journal is here?"

"I know it is," Faye said. "Helen kept it as leverage. Proof Vivienne's collection was real-and that she profited from it."

Faye yanked open the drawer.

Dust.

Journals. Yellowed photographs. Black envelopes with blood-red wax seals.

And then...

A thin, leather-bound book. Edged in gold. Cracked with time.

The Vivienne Ledger.

Faye stared at it like it was a holy artifact.

Her hands trembled as she opened it.

Faye flipped pages faster. Alora leaned in.

"There," Faye whispered, pointing.

One page. Marked with the words: Ashcombe Collection - Lot No. 117, "The Raven's Mercy."

Beside it: "Stolen from Polish crypt. Sold via proxy. Hidden at Cape Raven."

And a name.

Custodian: Jeffrey Ashcombe.

Alora's heart stopped. "Jeff knew?"

"More than we thought," Faye said coldly. "He was more than just a pawn."

Then-

A crash.

Outside the archives.

Alora snapped her head up. "Did you lock the stairwell?"

Faye nodded, but her hand went to her coat pocket. She pulled out a small taser. Not much-but enough to stun.

Footsteps.

Then a voice.

Helen.

"Put the journal down, girls. Or I'll make sure neither of you sees sunlight again."

Helen entered with two guards-men Alora recognized from past events, dressed now not in suits, but in all black. Professional. Silent.

"I warned you," Helen said. "I tried to be kind. Generous. I even offered you a quiet exit, Faye."

Faye stood tall, journal clutched to her chest. "And I declined, because I don't negotiate with snakes."

Helen's lip twitched. "You've always mistaken rebellion for strength. But this time, you've overplayed your hand."

She nodded to the men.

"Take it."

As they stepped forward, Alora moved-grabbing a stool and smashing it into the nearest guard's shoulder. He staggered. Faye fired the taser into the other. Sparks. Collapse.

Helen shrieked.

"Do you think this makes you powerful?" she spat. "You're nothing. Both of you. Ashcombe will erase you."

Alora faced her, breath ragged, rage simmering.

"You already tried to erase Faye. You almost erased Vivienne. But not me. I know who I am now."

Helen stared. "You think you've won?"

"No," Alora said. "But I've started fighting. That's enough for now."

They ran.

They burst out onto the rooftop balcony above the east wing. Wind howled. Rain had begun.

Faye tucked the journal inside her coat.

"How do we get out?"

Alora looked toward the tree line. "There's a path to the gardener's quarters. It leads straight to the greenhouse entrance. From there, we vanish."

Faye glanced back toward the open window.

"We're not coming back, are we?"

Alora met her eyes.

"We'll come back," she said. "But not as thieves."

Faye smiled faintly. "Then how?"

Alora looked out into the storm.

"As the ones holding the truth."

Alora sits at a wooden table beside Faye.

They review the journal.

Every page they photograph. Every name they list. Every lie they prepare to expose.

"We take this to the press?" Faye asks.

"No," Alora replies. "Not yet. First we find 'The Raven's Mercy.' The painting Vivienne risked her life to protect."

"And Jeff?"

Alora's expression is unreadable.

"He'll talk. Or he'll burn."

Lightning cracked in the distance.