CHAPTER 71: LOCKER 1704

It was a quiet afternoon as Miles exited the office, the tiny key clenched in his palm. His mind buzzed with the weight of Cedric’s revelations, but he pushed it aside for now. There was something he had to see first. Without hesitation, he started the engine and drove straight to the heart of the city—toward a place few still remembered: the original branch of Star Harbor Bank.

Nestled between stone-paved alleys and old colonial buildings, the Star Harbor Bank’s oldest branch stood like a relic of another age. The structure was grand yet worn, its sandstone façade weathered by decades of rain and sun. Iron-grilled windows lined the ground floor, and a brass plaque near the entrance bore the faded engraving:

"Star Harbor Bank – Est. 1902"

Inside, the building breathed silence and dignity. The ceilings arched high above with ornate wooden beams, and antique chandeliers hung like forgotten memories. Rows of mahogany desks sat on polished marble floors, their age betrayed only by the creaking sound as people walked past. Time seemed slower here.

Miles stepped inside, his boots clicking softly as he made his way to the front desk. Behind it sat a middle-aged man with slicked-back hair and rimless glasses, scribbling notes into a ledger.

"Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?" the man asked, setting down his pen with a polite smile.

"I want to check my locker," Miles said plainly.

"Of course, sir. Do you have a key?"

Without a word, Miles pulled out the small, antique key and placed it on the desk.

The man’s eyes widened as they landed on it. He carefully picked it up, studying the grooves and shape. A quiet tension filled the air.

"This key... one moment, please." He stood abruptly. "I’ll call the manager."

Miles watched silently as the man walked briskly toward the back. A few seconds later, an old gentleman emerged from a glass-paneled office. He walked with a firm, deliberate step—his posture proud despite his age. His tailored gray suit and silver pocket watch made him look like a character from a forgotten era.

"Hello, sir," the man said with a warm voice, extending his hand. "My name is Morris Butler. I’m the manager of this branch. May I see the key?"

Miles handed it to him.

The moment Morris saw it, something shifted in his eyes. Recognition. Respect. And something deeper—nostalgia.

"Welcome, Mr. Sterling," he said slowly, the name lingering on his tongue. "I knew you would come eventually. The Sterling name still holds great weight in these walls."

Miles tilted his head slightly. "Have we met?"

"Not quite, Mr. Sterling," Morris replied. "But I knew your grandfather. A remarkable man. The Sterling family has had a long relationship with our bank. Please, allow me to show you the locker."

Without another word, Morris turned and began walking, and Miles followed. They passed layers of security—each older and more intricate than the last. The newer banks had biometric scanners and digital locks, but here, it was brass keys, steel gates, and heavy doors that echoed with history.

As they descended a short flight of stairs to the lower level, Morris spoke again. "The key you’re holding belongs to a set of legacy lockers, dating back almost sixty years. We rarely see these used anymore. When I laid eyes on that key, I knew... it had to be you."

They stopped before a gated corridor lined with aged lockers, each sealed shut with age-blackened iron.

"This is the room," Morris said, pausing by the door. "I believe you know the locker number. I’ll leave you in privacy."

Miles gave him a respectful nod. "Thank you, Manager Morris."

Morris bowed his head gently and turned, leaving Miles alone with the key... and the secrets waiting behind a steel door.

Miles stood still for a moment, taking in the sight of the room. It was quiet, dimly lit, and neatly maintained despite the age of the lockers lined up against the wall. There were about ten of them—old, metal, with fading paint and rusted edges—but the place itself was surprisingly clean, as if someone had been taking care of it all these years.

His eyes moved across the numbers until they stopped on one.

1704.

He exhaled slowly, heart beginning to race. That was the one.

He approached it, feeling the cool metal under his fingertips. The key in his hand felt heavier than it should. Something about this moment felt too important to rush. With a quiet breath, he slid the key into the lock.

Click.

The mechanism released with a metallic sound.

Inside, there was just a single envelope. Thick. Aged. But kept in perfect condition. As he reached for it, a faint scent of old paper and cedar reached his nose. The envelope had a silver-embossed insignia in the corner—the Sterling family crest.

Without opening it, Miles slid it carefully into his inner jacket pocket and closed the locker.

He stepped out of the room, heading back to the main lobby.

That’s when he heard it—a raised voice at the front desk.

"I want to meet him now! I’ve been waiting since yesterday!" a young woman demanded, clearly distressed.

"Miss, I’ve told you—Mr. Curtis is currently in a meeting with a client," the receptionist responded, trying to keep his voice calm. "He said he’ll meet you as soon as he’s available."

Miles’s eyes shifted to the woman.

His brows furrowed. That voice... that figure...

"April?" he called out.

The woman turned around sharply.

"Miles?" she said, surprised.

He offered a soft smile, but it quickly faded when he saw the expression on her face—tight, anxious, almost on the verge of something breaking.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, stepping closer.

April walked toward him. She looked exhausted—eyes rimmed with fatigue, voice shaking slightly when she finally spoke.

"It’s my mother," she said. "She’s very sick."

Miles didn’t interrupt. He listened.

"She was diagnosed with a rare infection a few weeks ago," April continued. "The insurance barely covered the initial treatment. We’ve run out of funds. The hospital bills are just... piling up."

"I finished college this year," she added quietly. "Managed to find a job. But I lost it because I took too many leaves while taking care of her. My dad... he’s retired. But he went back to work. He’s doing what he can."

She looked away for a moment, ashamed.

"I came here yesterday to apply for a loan. Curtis—the assistant manager—he told me he’d let me know by today."

She hesitated, her voice almost collapsing into a whisper.

"This morning, I got a message from him."

Miles waited, sensing her hesitation.

April clenched her fists. "He said... if I wanted the loan approved, I’d need to give him a favour."

Miles’s expression darkened, jaw clenching.

"You mean... he asked you to sleep with him?" he said, voice cold.

April nodded once, her eyes burning. "I came to confront him. But he refuses to meet me. He told the staff I’m creating a scene."

Before Miles could respond, a door creaked open across the lobby. A short, balding man in a grey suit stepped out from a side office, adjusting his tie.

It was Morris, the branch manager.

He looked around at the sudden tension in the room and then noticed Miles standing with April.

"Is there any problem, Mr. Sterling?" Morris asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

Miles’s jaw clenched as fury simmered beneath his composed exterior. His eyes, usually cold and calculating, now burned with quiet rage. Manager Morris caught the storm brewing in Miles’s expression and grew visibly uneasy.

"Show me the message," Miles said, voice low but sharp as a blade.

April, visibly shaken, pulled her phone from her bag. Her fingers trembled slightly as she unlocked it and handed it over.

Miles read the screen. The color drained from his face—not out of fear, but fury. He turned the phone toward Morris, eyes narrowed.

"This," Miles said coldly, "is the kind of legacy your bank upholds?"

Morris took the phone. The moment his eyes scanned the vulgar proposition, his expression darkened. A vein pulsed in his temple. His fist clenched by his side.

"I apologize, Miss," he said, swallowing his shame. "You deserve justice—and you’ll have it. Today."

He spun toward the front desk and barked, "Bring Curtis here. Now!"

Gasps echoed in the lobby. Heads turned. Customers began to murmur, the quiet hum of gossip spreading like wildfire.

Morris turned back to Miles, bowing slightly.

"Mr. Sterling, I am truly sorry. This is beyond disgraceful. I will deal with this immediately. Miss—please trust me—this will not go unpunished."

Moments later, Curtis rushed into the lobby, slightly breathless, adjusting the sleeves of his overpriced suit. He was in his mid-thirties, well-groomed with slicked-back hair and a smug confidence that hadn’t yet registered the storm waiting for him.

"Manager, you called—?"

He froze mid-step.

Eyes from all directions landed on him.

Curtis didn’t know it yet...

...but his fall was about to begin.

Curtis stepped forward with a scoff, glancing from April to Morris—then his gaze fell on Miles. His confidence was thinly veiled, arrogance seeping through.

"You never learn, do you?" he sneered. "I told you not to cause a scene here. The loan process takes time. Approvals depend on several internal factors. What’s the point of dragging the manager into this?"

He adjusted his tie as if he still had control.

A moment of silence passed. Then—

SLAP.

The sound rang out like a gunshot.

Gasps filled the lobby. Conversations froze mid-word. Customers turned, wide-eyed.

Curtis staggered a step back, hand flying to his cheek in stunned disbelief. His eyes locked on Morris.

"M-Manager...?"

But Morris wasn’t done. His face was contorted in anger, veins showing across his temple. He shoved April’s phone in front of Curtis’s face.

"What is the meaning of this?" Morris thundered. "How dare you disgrace this institution? You’ve humiliated a guest, and tarnished the very name of this bank!"

Curtis’s lip trembled. His mind scrambled for excuses.

"Th-this... This is fabricated!" he shouted, pointing at April. "She did it! She’s trying to frame me—intentionally!"

He turned, eyes blazing with irrational fury. "You—girl—!"

Curtis raised his hand to grab her, anger overriding sense—

But he never made it.

A single hand caught his wrist mid-air.

Cold. Unflinching. Unyielding.

Miles.

Without even looking at him, Miles’s grip tightened. Curtis froze—his breath hitched. He could feel it... the overwhelming pressure, the complete power behind that grip.

It wasn’t just a warning.

It was a silent verdict.

The entire lobby watched in frozen awe.

Curtis didn’t know it yet,but his world had just come undone.