Unwanted Blood (Harper) novel Chapter 59

Chapter 59

Ryder’s POV

I came to Vancouver Trust. It occupied the top twelve floors of a glass tower on Burrard Street

Colton stood beside me, his laptop under one arm, his face tight with controlled urgency.

“We have the death certificate,” I said, sliding the document across the counter to the clerk. “And the estate inheritance filing. The box belongs to Johnson Wilson. He’s deceased. We’re his heirs.

The clerk-a woman in her fifties with glasses and the kind of expression that said she’d heard every variation of this story-scanned the documents and typed something into her terminal.

“I can confirm the box is still in our vault,” she said. “However, access requires a court order for deceased account holders without a designated beneficiary on file.”

“How long?” I asked.

“For an expedited order? Three business days. Minimum.”

Three days.

Seventy-two hours in which someone else could move the box. Could empty it. Could make it disappear the same way it had disappeared for sixteen years.

“No.” I leaned forward, both hands on the counter. “I don’t have three days.”

“Sir, I can’t-”

I pulled out my phone. I opened the Wilson Group’s corporate profile page and turned the screen

toward her.

“You know who I am,” I said. My voice was low. Her eyes flicked to the screen. Then back to my face. “That safe might hold the crucial evidence behind my mother’s murder. If you don’t let me open that box today, tomorrow the headline will be about Vancouver Trust Bank withholding evidence in a sixteen-year-old murder case. And I guarantee you, your CEO won’t like that.”

She swallowed. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

“Wait here,” she said, and disappeared through a door behind the counter.

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Chapter 59

296 Vourtiers

She came back eight minutes later with a man in a charcoal suit-the branch manager, according to the nameplate on his lapel.

“Mr. Wilson,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “We can allow supervised access. You will be accompanied by two security officers. The contents will be documented. Nothing leaves the vault without our authorization.”

“Fine.”

The vault was cold and smelled like metal and old

Box 417. Johnson Wilson.

paper.

The manager inserted his key. I inserted mine. The lock clicked. The drawer slid open.

Inside, there is no dictaphone, but a single envelope. It was sealed with wax that had cracked with

age.

I broke the seal and pulled out a single sheet of paper. My father’s handwriting on it. I’d recognize

it anywhere.

“If you’re reading this, I’m gone. “My throat tightened.

“About your mother’s death-I knew more than I told you. I kept it quiet because I thought silence was the safest thing. I was wrong.”

“I found the person responsible. Someone inside Vancouver General Hospital. A doctor. He agreed to meet me and tell me everything-what was done, who ordered it, who paid for it. We set a date.”

“The meeting was supposed to be the day after I wrote this.”

The paper shook in my hands.

“I’m scared. But I’m going. If something happens to me, don’t trust anyone. The truth is in that hospital. Find the doctor. His name is-”

The sentence ended. Mid-word.

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