Chapter 3 - The Shadow in the Subfloor
Ten minutes later, Martin Doyle barged into the drawing room carrying a leather briefcase and a heavy tactical toolbox. Two armed security guards stood posted outside the high double doors, their hands resting ominously on their holstered sidearms.
I sat on the velvet sofa, wrapping my arms tightly around my chest. I was still wearing a spare pair of grey scrubs I kept in my staff locker, feeling smaller and more vulnerable than ever.
"The uniform pocket was clear, boss," Doyle reported, setting his laptop on the coffee table. "Just a tube of lip balm and a wet receipt from the grocery store. We ran a full diagnostic on the basement laundry unit. The water pump was intentionally jammed with a tiny strip of copper wire. It was sabotaged."
Julian stood near the fireplace, a heavy brass poker in his hand. He didn't look surprised. "Which means whoever sabotaged the wash knew Sadie would have to change. They knew the dry-cleaning delivery was sitting in the side hall."
"Who delivered the dry cleaning?" I asked, my voice trembling. "It was brought in by the morning courier service yesterday."
Doyle pulled up a high-resolution image on his laptop screen. "Courier was a fake. Used a stolen van, dropped the basket at the side gate, and cleared out before security checked the tag. The shirt in that basket wasn't yours, Mr. Corsini. It was a replica crafted by a custom tailor in East Boston who went out of business twelve years ago."
Julian tapped the brass poker against the dark floorboards near the antique side table. Thump. Thump. Thump.
The wood gave off a dull, hollow echo.
"Move the table," Julian ordered.
Doyle and one of the guards effortlessly slid the heavy mahogany table aside, exposing a section of original 19th-century parquet flooring. Doyle reached into his toolbox, pulled out a suction-cup lifting tool, and applied it to a small, barely visible seam in the wood. With a sharp tug, a eight-inch rectangular section of the floor popped open, revealing a dusty, dark cavity beneath.
I leaned forward despite my terror, unable to look away.
Inside the narrow recess lay a small, tarnished steel box secured with an old mechanical combination lock. But the lock wasn't intact. It had been cleanly sliced through with a modern, military-grade laser cutter.
The box was wide open. And it was completely empty.
Doyle swore under his breath. "The ledger... it was here all along?"
"No," Julian said, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on my arms stand up. "The ledger wasn't in this box. This box held the second key to the family vault beneath the harbor docks. Someone used Sadie's movement last night to double-check if the thermal sensors around this hatch were active."
He looked at me, his gaze calculating. "When you fell against that table, you didn't trigger a trap. You blocked the upper camera angle for three seconds. That was all the thief needed."
"Wait," I gasped, standing up. "Are you saying someone was in the room with me?"
"Behind the velvet drapes," Julian said, gesturing casually toward the heavy curtains three feet from where I had been singing into my wooden spoon. "While you were dancing, the intruder was standing right there. They waited for you to obstruct the camera line, popped the hatch, took the key, and slipped out through the servant's passage behind the wood paneling."
My knees nearly gave out. I remembered the cold breeze I had felt on the back of my neck while I was laughing on the floor. I had assumed it was just a draft from the hallway. In reality, a master thief—and potentially a murderer—had been standing inches away from me in the dark.
"Why didn't they kill me?" I whispered, my vision swimming.
"Because you were the perfect cover," Julian replied. "If the cameras picked up an intruder, security would have locked down the estate in thirty seconds. But the cameras picked up my foolish, barefoot housekeeper having a late-night breakdown. The security monitoring team in the basement was too busy watching you dance to notice the shadow slipping through the drapes."
Doyle looked up from his tablet, his expression grim. "Boss, if they have the harbor key now, the main vault at Pier 4 is exposed. We have less than twelve hours before the tide comes in and clears the access tunnel."
Julian didn't answer right away. He walked over to where I stood, looking down at my pale, terrified face.
"You're in the middle of a war now, Sadie," he said softly. "The person who orchestrated this knows who you are. They know where you live. They used you to rob me, and as soon as they realize I haven't executed you for it, they will assume you are working with me."
"I'm resigning," I blurted out, panic overwhelming my rational thought. "I'm packing my bags, I'm taking my old job back at the motel, and I'm leaving Boston."
"If you walk out those gates alone, you'll be dead before you reach the subway station," Julian said flatly. "The Corsini family doesn't leave loose ends, and neither does the man who killed my uncle."
He reached out, his thumb lightly brushing against my jawline—a touch that was surprisingly warm despite the cold authority in his eyes.
"You stay here. You stay by my side. You wear my protection, you eat at my table, and you help me catch the man who turned my house into his playground."
May you like
"And if I refuse?" I squeaked.
Julian pulled his hand back, resting it casually in his suit pocket. "Then I suggest you start running right now, Sadie. Because the hunt has already begun."
