Chapter 4: The Infiltration of Westchester
Chapter 4: The Infiltration of Westchester
The rain began to fall in heavy, gray sheets as Marcus’s sedan approached the iron gates of the Whitmore estate in Bedford, New York. The property was hidden behind a twelve-foot stone wall, surrounded by ancient oak trees that looked like reaching skeletons in the autumn mist. High-definition security cameras sat at every angle of the perimeter, their small red lenses tracking the road like mechanical eyes.
We had left Sophie at the Brooklyn safehouse under the protection of Marcus’s most trusted associate—a retired federal marshal who owed Marcus his life. It was the hardest thing I had ever done, pulling her small arms away from my neck, but I knew that the ground we were walking onto was a war zone.
"Here," Marcus said, handing me a sleek black earpiece and a small, magnetic security bypass card. "Alexander gave me this card two years ago when I was still handling their corporate structural audits. It bypasses the secondary service entrance near the servant quarters on the east wing. If Lucy hasn't updated the physical access codes, it should give us a ninety-second window before the main security console logs an anomaly."
"And if she has updated them?" I asked, my fingers tightening around the cold plastic of the card.
"Then we have about two minutes before six armed private security guards find us in the woods," Marcus said grimly. He looked at me, his eyes searching my face. "Elena... you don't have to do this. You can take Sophie and run to Canada. With the data on the first half of the drive, you could probably disappear."
"No," I said, looking at the distant, towering silhouette of the stone mansion through the trees. "Alexander was a fool, and he broke my heart. But he is Sophie's father. And I will not let a murderer raise her fortune on the blood of my family. Let's go."
We slipped out of the car, leaving it parked in a deep drainage ditch half a mile down the road. We moved through the dense undergrowth, the wet leaves soaking through my jeans, the branches clawing at my face. The estate was terrifyingly quiet, save for the rhythmic hum of the massive industrial generators hidden near the garage complex.
We reached the low, wooden service door on the east side of the mansion. The digital keypad glowed a faint, ominous blue in the darkness.
My hand shook as I slid Marcus's bypass card through the slot.
The light on the keypad flashed amber... then green. With a soft, hydraulic click, the lock disengaged.
"We're in," Marcus whispered into his earpiece, stepping into the dim, carpeted hallway of the service wing.
The interior of the Whitmore mansion was suffocatingly opulent. The walls were lined with silk wallpaper, gold-framed oil paintings of ancestors Lucy Hernandez had never met, and marble floors that reflected the distant, dim security lights like ice.
We moved toward the central library, where Alexander’s video had indicated the entrance to the basement complex was hidden behind a false mahogany bookcase. Every shadow seemed to stretch toward us, every creak of the floorboards sounding like a gunshot in the silence of the house.
Suddenly, a sharp click echoed from the main gallery hallway.
Marcus grabbed my arm, throwing us both behind a massive velvet curtain just as a flash of light cut through the dark.
"I don't care how much it costs, Richard," a voice hissed from the hallway. It was Camila—Lucy. She was walking rapidly, her silk robe trailing behind her, her phone pressed tightly to her ear. Her voice was cracked with fury. "The courier's phone was traced to Queens, but the apartment was empty. Elena and the brat vanished. If that drive gets to the federal authorities, we are all dead. Tell your boys at the precinct to pull every traffic camera within a five-mile radius of her building. Find that car!"
She paused, listening to the response, her breath coming in ragged, erratic gasps.
"No, he's still alive," she snarled into the phone. "I’m going down to give him the final dose now. Once his heart stops, the biometric lock on his personal accounts will default to my signature anyway. We don't need the drive if he's dead. Just find the woman!"
She slammed her phone shut, turning a brass sconce on the wall beside the library entrance. With a heavy, grinding sound, a section of the mahogany shelving slid backward, revealing a steep, concrete staircase leading down into a pitch-black abyss.
Lucy stepped into the opening, her flashlight beam cutting through the dark as she descended. The bookcase began to slide shut behind her.
"Now!" I whispered to Marcus.
May you like
We darted out from behind the curtain, Marcus jamming his leather briefcase into the closing mechanism of the bookcase just before it could seal. The wood groaned against the steel frame, leaving an opening barely wide enough for a human body to squeeze through.
I didn't wait for Marcus. I slipped through the gap, my feet hitting the cold concrete of the stairs, descending into the dark after the woman who had stolen my life's peace.
