CHAPTER 44: THE BLUEPRINT (REVISITED)
The blueprint sketches were still tucked in the back of the paperback, hidden between the final pages and the cover. Yellowed paper, brittle with age, covered in architectural notes and measurements that Logan had photographed from the historical archives months ago.
He smoothed them out on his desk, angling the lamp to catch the faded ink.
The east wing. Built 1897. Elias Woodstone's personal addition.
In the show — later seasons, the ones he'd watched in his past life — the vault had been a revelation. Sam and Jay had stumbled across it accidentally during renovations. But Logan knew the shape of the story now. He knew what was hidden beneath the east wing. He knew why it was built.
Elias Woodstone had been a robber baron with a paranoid streak and a mistrust of banks. The vault was his solution — a hidden space beneath the mansion where he could store documents, valuables, and whatever else a Gilded Age millionaire wanted to keep away from prying eyes.
Three requirements for access. Physical key. Combination. Hidden entrance.
Logan circled the vault's probable location on the blueprint with a pencil, then immediately erased it. The impression remained in the paper — a ghost of a mark, visible if you knew to look.
Can't leave evidence. This house has too many watchers.
He turned to a fresh page in his notebook and began listing what he needed.
VAULT ACCESS — REQUIREMENTS
Key — Probably somewhere in the house. Hetty might know where. But Hetty has reasons to keep the vault sealed.Combination — Known only to Woodstones. Hetty? Dead. Elias? Dead. Thomas? Dead. Maybe written down somewhere.Entrance — Hidden door. East wing. Location unknown. Will need to search or force.
Logan tapped the pencil against the desk. His stomach growled — he'd skipped dinner, too focused on the podcast recordings and Pete's dependency and the seventeen other things demanding his attention.
Focus. Who do I need?
Trevor. His telekinesis was essential. Ghost hands couldn't turn living locks, couldn't manipulate living mechanisms. But Trevor could move objects without touching them — the same power he'd used to flip through Jay's laptop, to play with the television, to interact with the living world in ways other ghosts couldn't.
First recruit. Easiest sell. He won't moralize about treasure hunting.
Hetty. She'd lived here. She knew the house's secrets. But she also had every reason to keep the vault sealed. Thomas Woodstone was her son. The investigation Sam was running — the podcast, the research, the slow uncovering of truth — was exposing him as a murderer. If the vault contained evidence...
Second recruit. Harder. Need leverage or trust.
Sass. His dreamwalking could extract information from sleeping minds. Jay had been researching the house, reading old documents, absorbing information. If Jay had seen anything useful — a combination written in an old ledger, a map of hidden passages — Sass could find it.
Third recruit. Possible. He'd need a good reason.
Isaac. His military precision would be valuable. His observation skills could help identify the entrance. But Isaac was watching Logan. Recruiting him would confirm suspicions, provide data points, strengthen the dossier.
Keep Isaac out. Too risky.
Logan wrote the sequence in his notebook: Trevor → Hetty → Sass.
Then he erased it too.
The clock read 1:47 AM when he closed the Gatsby and put away the blueprints.
His back ached from hunching over the desk. His eyes were dry. The house was quiet — the living asleep, the ghosts scattered through their usual haunts. Pete would be in his room, probably still thinking about the coffee cup. Isaac would be in the library, probably reviewing his parchment. Hetty would be pacing the hallways, probably worrying about the investigation.
Everyone has their own agenda. Everyone has their own secrets. The trick is making their agendas align with mine.
He found Trevor in the living room at 2 AM.
The ghost was hovering near Jay's laptop, which had been left open on the coffee table. Financial news scrolled across the screen — stock tickers, market analyses, the kind of content Trevor had spent his living years obsessing over.
"Can't sleep?" Trevor asked without turning.
"Can you?"
"Ha." Trevor's laugh was soft. "No. Never. That's kind of the point of being dead." He glanced at Logan. "You look like you're planning something."
"I am."
"Sam know about it?"
"Not yet."
Trevor turned from the laptop. His expression was different than it had been in the early days — the manic finance-bro energy had been replaced by something quieter, more thoughtful. Finding his body had changed him. Processing his death had changed him more.
"Okay," Trevor said. "Hit me. What are you planning?"
"There's a vault beneath the east wing."
Trevor's eyebrows rose.
"I have a business proposition."
we just added free chapters on unwrittenrealm.com — plus the whole novel is translated into 14 languages. read it in your language for free.