PART 3 — The Shadow on the Stairs
The sound of footsteps on the creaking wooden stairs came faster and closer. Every step sounded heavy and determined. Elena grabbed my arm tightly. Her knuckles turned white, and I could see the fear in her eyes.
"We're not alone," she whispered panickedly. "Maria, we have to hide!"
My heart hammered so hard in my chest that it hurt. In the small office room, there were hardly any hiding spots. There was only the heavy oak desk, the thick steel safe, and a wardrobe in the corner. Without thinking, I pulled Elena with me toward the wooden wardrobe. We squeezed ourselves between a few old, dusty coats that seemed to have been hanging there for years. I left the wardrobe door cracked open just a sliver so we could look outside through the gap.
The footsteps reached the top floor. The wood of the hallway groaned under the intruder's weight. For a moment, it was quiet. The tension inside the wardrobe was palpable. I held my breath, afraid that the sound of my own breathing would give us away.
Then a figure appeared in the doorway.
It was a tall man, dressed in a dark raincoat and a flat cap that kept most of his face in shadow. He stood in the doorway for a moment, looking around the room. His gaze lingered briefly on the burning candle on the desk. He let out a deep sigh—a sound of frustration.
When he turned his head toward the candlelight, caught in the glow of the flame, my breath caught. The man had a striking peculiarity: his left arm hung somewhat stiffly by his side, and he wore a gold ring with a red stone on his pinky finger.
My thoughts instantly went back fifteen years. Thomas had a good friend, a man who occasionally came to our house for business meetings. He called himself 'Victor'. Victor had the exact same posture, the same stiff arm, and that striking ring. But Thomas had told me back then that Victor had died in a car crash. Why was he here? And why was he still alive?
Victor walked slowly to the desk. Instead of blowing out the candle, he pulled a small notebook from his inner pocket. He began quickly flipping through the papers lying on the desk. He was clearly looking for something specific.
"Where did you leave it, Thomas…" the man muttered to himself. His voice was rough and hoarse. "You couldn't take it to your grave."
He walked over to the large steel safe in the corner of the room. He knelt down before it and placed his hand on the dial lock. But before he began to turn it, he stopped abruptly. He looked down at the floor.
My stomach turned. I understood what he saw: our fresh, wet footprints on the dusty wooden floor. The tracks led straight from the doorway to the wardrobe where we were standing.
Victor stood up slowly. He pulled his hand out of his jacket pocket. In the dimmed light of the room, I saw the metal of a pistol flash.
Elena let out a quiet gasp of terror. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed he hadn't heard it. But it was already too late.
With slow, measured steps, Victor walked toward the wardrobe. Every step sounded like a death sentence. He stopped a meter away from the wardrobe door.
"I know someone is in there," he said in an ice-cold, calm voice. "Come out. Now. Or I'll shoot through the wood."
Elena was trembling so violently that the wooden wall of the wardrobe began to shake slightly. I knew we had no choice. If we stayed put, we would be defenseless.
I grabbed the handle of the wardrobe door and pushed it open slowly. Elena and I stepped out of the wardrobe with our hands raised.
Victor looked at us. When his eyes landed on me, his expression shifted from harshness to a mixture of shock and disbelief.
"Maria?" he whispered. "What are you doing here?"
"Victor…" I said with a voice trying not to tremble. "You're not dead. Thomas lied to me."
Victor lowered the pistol, but didn't put it back in his jacket. "Thomas didn't lie to deceive you, Maria. He lied to keep you alive. You should never have come here. This place is dangerous."
"Why?" I asked, taking a step forward, driven by a sudden burst of courage. "What was Thomas hiding? What is in that safe?"
Victor looked at the safe and then back at me. "Inside that safe lies the proof that Thomas's death was neither an accident nor a cardiac arrest. Thomas was murdered, Maria. And the people who killed him are looking for you now."
Before I could fully process the gravity of his words, the loud screeching of car tires echoed from outside the building, followed by the slamming of multiple car doors.
Victor looked at the window in shock. "They're here," he said hastily. "They followed me!"
He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward a small door in the back of the room that I hadn't noticed before. "We have to leave now! If they find you here, you won't survive this!"
We ran down the dark back stairs while above us the windows of the warehouse shattered into a thousand pieces with a loud crash…
* * *
