Chapter 8
Elena locked the office door from the inside.
It was an old brass lock, the kind that turned with a heavy click. She turned it, then pulled the dark velvet curtain all the way across the doorway threshold so the alcove disappeared entirely. From the hall it would just look like wall.
"Help me," she whispered, and went to the large desk.
I understood. We pushed together, wood legs scraping loud against the rug despite our trying to be quiet. We shifted it three feet to the right, enough to clear the portrait but also to block a direct line of sight if someone opened the door and peeked through a gap in the curtain.
When we'd pushed it, I put the red ledger inside my coat and zipped it halfway so it wouldn't fall. The brass key from the safe was still in my palm. I pocketed it.
Outside the office, the house changed tone. I could hear it.
Footsteps that had been searching turned systematic. A man called, "Front locked," from the foyer. Another answered, "Kitchen locked, pantry locked." A third, closer: "East wing door locked. Key's on the hook."
They were not looking anymore. They were sealing.
Elena pressed her ear to the curtain. "They do this when my husband worked late," she whispered. "Victor — my employer before you — he'd have Daniel lock the service exits first, then the main. They know how the house locks."
I moved to the window behind the desk. Heavy drapes, wood shutters behind them. I eased one slat open and looked out. The driveway was dark except for the low warm light from the office spilling onto the hedge. The front gate at the end of the drive was lit by two small pillars. I could see a car parked just outside it on the county road, headlights off, a faint outline. Marino's car, maybe. Or whoever sent the text. It didn't move.
A suited figure crossed the lawn below, walked to the gate, and did something with his hands. A second later the gate lights flickered. He'd thrown the manual bolt.
Locked from the inside.
Elena joined me at the window. "Service door," she said. She pointed to the right, where the kitchen wing met the garden. Another figure stood there, checking a door, pocketing a key.
"How many keys?" I asked.
"Three full sets. One in the kitchen, one in your father's bedroom, one in the utility room," she said. "They took at least two."
She was right. We were boxed. I checked my phone again — no new text, still the same warning. If Marino was outside, he was now locked out too, and we were locked in with the men who wanted the ledger more than they wanted us alive.
A hard knock hit the office door. The curtain shivered.
"Elena?" A man's voice, polite, not shouting. "We know you're in there with him. Mr. Kane, we just need the book. We can make this clean for Marino when he arrives."
Elena didn't answer. She looked at me and pressed her finger to her lips again — the same gesture from behind the curtain at the start of the night. Stay silent.
The doorknob turned, caught on the brass lock, rattled once. He didn't force it. Not yet.
"We'll be back with the office key," the voice said. "Don't make this harder."
His footsteps left. But I heard what he did next — the soft slide of a chair being tipped against the outside of the door, and the faint jingle of a key being taken away from the hall table.
I turned to Elena. "Utility room still has a set," I whispered. "Can we get there without the hall?"
May you like
She stared at the velvet curtain, at the narrow doorway threshold it covered, and at the wood panel beside it that had always looked like wall. Her eyes narrowed the way they had when she'd found Daniel's log.
"Not through the hall," she said. "Through the curtain itself."
