Chapter 8 - THE BROKEN LOCK
Night fell soft and heavy over the Upper East Side.
Ethan slept with the puppy curled at the foot of his bed.
Emma checked the security panel one last time.
All green.
William worked late in the study reviewing foundation papers.
Emma walked the second-floor hallway.
She paused at the portrait of Eleanor.
The painted eyes seemed to follow her.
A soft click sounded from the far end of the corridor.
Emma froze.
The master suite door stood slightly open.
She had locked it herself an hour earlier.
She moved without sound.
Her hand closed around the heavy brass candlestick from the side table.
Inside the suite the black lacquer dresser stood open.
The top drawer hung empty.
Emma’s breath caught.
Every journal. Every vial. Every false passport.
Gone.
A folded note rested on the polished wood.
She picked it up.
The handwriting was elegant and familiar.
You took my future.
I will take yours.
One by one.
Emma ran to the study.
William looked up from the desk.
“What is it?”
She held out the note.
His face hardened.
“Call Miller. Now.”
Before she could dial the power died.
Every light in the mansion went black.
The emergency generators failed to kick in.
In the sudden dark a single red light blinked on the security panel.
Breach.
May you like
West Wing service corridor.
Ethan.
