Chapter 4 - The Study on Thursday
The drive to the Sterling estate on Thursday afternoon was the longest thirty minutes of my life. Chloe sat in the passenger seat, her eyes fixed on the window. She hadn't spoken a word since we left the house.
“Chloe,” I said gently, reaching across the console to squeeze her hand. “Remember what we talked about? You are completely safe. I am going to be right outside the estate gates in a surveillance van with Marcus. The second anything goes wrong, we are coming in.”
She looked at me, her lower lip trembling slightly, but she nodded. “I trust you, Dad.”
The Sterling estate was a sprawling, multi-million-dollar colonial mansion surrounded by massive stone walls and iron security gates. It looked like a fortress. I pulled up to the grand front entrance, walking Chloe to the door myself.
The door was opened by Richard’s long-time housekeeper, Martha, a quiet woman who always looked like she was walking on eggshells. She escorted us directly to the heavy, oak doors of Richard’s private study.
When we entered, Richard was sitting behind his massive mahogany desk, surrounded by walls of leather-bound law books and dark oil paintings. The grand piano stood in the corner, illuminated by a single, harsh spotlight.
“Harrison,” Richard said, not looking up from his legal brief. “I believe we agreed you would just drop her at the gate.”
“I know, Richard, but I wanted to drop off something first,” I said, stepping forward and placing the crystal paperweight directly onto the center of his desk, positioning it so the silver base faced the piano. “A token of appreciation for everything you’ve done for Chloe. I saw it at an estate auction and thought of your years on the bench.”
Richard paused, looking down at the paperweight. He picked it up, examining the crystal under the green desk lamp. My heart stopped beating for three agonizing seconds. If he noticed the micro-lens, the game was over.
But his sheer arrogance saved us. He smiled a smug, self-satisfied smile, completely buying into the illusion of his own grandeur. “A bit ostentatious, Harrison, but appropriate. Thank you. Now, leave us. We have work to do.”
I bent down, kissing Chloe on the cheek, whispering a final reassurance before turning and walking out of the mansion.
Ten minutes later, I was sitting in the back of a blacked-out surveillance van parked two hundred yards down the road, staring at a high-definition monitor alongside Marcus Kane.
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The screen showed the interior of Richard’s study in perfect clarity. Chloe was sitting at the piano, her sheet music open. Richard was standing over her, a heavy wooden ruler in his right hand.
“Let’s begin with the scales, Chloe,” Richard’s voice blared through the van’s speakers, crisp and clear. “And remember... posture is everything.”
