Chapter 4 - The Midnight Breakout
"She’s lying!" Oliver shouted, his voice cracking with panicked desperation. "She’s a child! She was instructed to say that by whoever sent her here!"
"Oliver," Beatrice said softly, her voice filled with a terrifying, absolute disgust. "Take off the ring."
"Grandmother—"
"Take off the ring!" she roared.
Oliver pulled the ring off his finger and slammed it onto the mahogany desk. His composure was completely shattered. He looked at his father, silently begging for help, but Victor simply looked away, refusing to burn himself to save his foolish son.
"Vance," Beatrice said, her tone cold as ice. "Call my personal driver. Get the heavy SUV ready. We are going to Upstate New York tonight."
"Mother, you are eighty-two years old and in a wheelchair," Victor warned, stepping between Vance and the door. "You will not survive a four-hour drive in this storm."
"I survived your father’s death, Victor," Beatrice replied, looking up at her son with eyes that burned like hot coals. "I survived your lies for eight years. I will survive long enough to bring my daughter home."
"I'm coming too," Emma said, standing up from the sofa, holding her blanket around her like a cape.
Beatrice reached out and pulled the little girl close to her side. "Yes, darling. You are coming with me."
Victor realized he was losing control of the chessboard. If Beatrice reached St. Jude’s Sanatorium with her lawyer and the state police, his career, his reputation, and his freedom were over.
He made a subtle gesture to his private security chief standing by the doorway.
"I'm afraid I cannot allow anyone to leave the estate tonight," Victor said smoothly. "The weather is far too dangerous. Roads are washed out near the bluffs. Security will escort everyone to their quarters for the night."
The heavy oak doors clicked shut. Two armed private security guards stepped into the room, their hands resting on their holsters.
"Victor..." Vance said, his voice dropping into a grave warning. "You are bordering on false imprisonment."
"This is my house, Vance," Victor replied, taking a slow sip of his scotch. "And until morning, no one leaves."
Suddenly, the lights throughout the mansion flickered once, twice, and died completely.
The storm outside had brought down a major power trunk along the coastal highway. The study was plunged into total darkness, save for the orange glow of the dying fireplace.
"Now, Vance!" Beatrice commanded in the dark.
Despite her age, Beatrice knew every secret passage built into the nineteenth-century estate. She grabbed Vance’s arm and guided him toward the hidden servant’s door concealed behind the silk tapestry near the bookcase.
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Vance picked up Emma in his arms, while Beatrice, using incredible willpower, pushed herself up from her wheelchair, leaning heavily on her cane.
"Find them!" Victor shouted in the dark as flashlight beams began cutting through the blackness. "Lock down the gates!"
