Chapter 5 - Through the Storm
The rain was relentless as Vance, carrying Emma, navigated the narrow stone stairs beneath the mansion’s old service tunnels. Beatrice followed closely behind, leaning heavily on Vance's shoulder, her face pale with physical agony, but her spirit unyielding.
They emerged into the old carriage house at the rear of the property, far out of sight from the main driveway where Victor’s security guards were searching.
Parked inside was a vintage 1974 Jaguar XJ6—the car Beatrice’s late husband had loved, maintained impeccably by the elderly estate mechanic who remained fiercely loyal to Beatrice.
The old mechanic, Thomas, stepped out from the shadows holding a lantern.
"Madam Beatrice?" Thomas gasped. "What is happening?"
"Thomas, open the rear service gate," Beatrice ordered, gasping for breath as Vance helped her into the back seat of the Jaguar. "And give Vance the keys."
"Yes, ma'am," Thomas didn't ask questions. He pulled open the heavy wooden barn doors, retrieved a spare set of keys from a hook on the wall, and unlocked the rusted iron gate that led out toward the rear salt marshes.
Vance jumped into the driver’s seat, while Emma snuggled beside Beatrice in the back, wrapping her arms around the old woman’s waist.
The Jaguar’s engine roared to life with a deep, throaty purr. Vance threw the car into gear, and the vintage sedan launched out into the night, its headlights cutting through the blinding rain as it skirted the edge of the marshland.
Behind them, the estate lights flickered back on as backup generators kicked in. Sirens began to echo across the bluffs as Victor’s private security realized the targets had escaped.
"Where to, Vance?" Beatrice asked, her hand resting on Emma’s head.
"We aren't going to Upstate New York yet," Vance said, checking his rearview mirror as the Jaguar sped down the slick coastal highway. "St. Jude’s Sanatorium was a dummy front account. I checked the offshore wire routing while the lights were out. The money wasn't going upstate."
Beatrice’s heart skipped a beat. "Where was it going?"
"To a private island estate off the coast of Montauk," Vance replied grimly. "Owned secretly by an offshore subsidiary of Holloway Shipping. Marianne isn't three hours away, Madam Beatrice. She is less than twenty miles from here, trapped on an isolated rock in the Atlantic."
May you like
Emma leaned her head against Beatrice’s shoulder. "Mama told me she could hear the big waves from her room. She said she was trapped on an island with high gray walls."
Beatrice stroked the girl’s wet hair. "We are coming, Marianne," she whispered into the dark. "Hold on."
