Chapter 3 - The House on Mapleton Hill
Before investigating the cold alleys near the Boulder train station, Leonard had one priority: the safety of the child who had dared to hold him accountable.
The Kalin estate on Mapleton Hill was a massive, historic stone manor surrounded by towering pines that groaned under the weight of the mountain snow. It was a lonely house, built by Leonard’s father during the height of his power, a fortress designed to keep the world out.
The Mercedes sedan pulled up the heated cobblestone driveway, its tires crunching softly on the thin layer of fresh sleet. Leonard stepped out first, shielding Nella from the biting wind with his own heavy wool coat.
The front doors were opened by Mrs. Eleanor Vance—no relation to the bodyguard—a quiet, grandmotherly woman who had managed the Kalin household since Leonard was a boy. She took one look at the shivering child, the oversized coat, and the haunted look in her eyes, and her maternal instincts immediately took over.
"Oh, you poor dear," Mrs. Eleanor murmured, kneeling down to Nella’s height. "Come inside. The fire is burning in the kitchen, and I’ve just finished a pot of hot cocoa."
Nella looked up at Leonard, seeking permission. For the first time that night, a flicker of warmth returned to her eyes.
"Go with Mrs. Eleanor, Nella," Leonard said, his voice softer than anyone in his organization had ever heard it. "She will keep you warm. I am going to find your mother."
"You promise?" Nella asked, her small hand reaching out to touch his sleeve one last time.
"I do not make promises I cannot keep," Leonard replied.
Once the heavy oak doors closed behind the child, Leonard turned to Martin Pike, who was waiting on the snow-covered porch, his phone pressed to his ear.
"Vance Miller isn't answering his secure line, Boss," Martin said, tucking the phone away. "I checked his vehicle's GPS locator. It’s been disabled. He’s gone dark."
"A personal enforcer doesn't go dark unless he has a place to hide, or someone is hiding him," Leonard said, walking back toward the idling sedan. "Who authorized his assignment to the Denver freight terminal?"
"Gabriel did," Martin admitted, his jaw clenching. "Three months ago, Gabriel requested additional security for the high-value transport bays at the terminal. He specifically asked for Vance."
Leonard got into the back seat of the car. The warmth of the interior did nothing to melt the ice settling in his chest. "Gabriel Stone has been with me for ten years. He knows how I run this city. He knows the rules."
"Maybe he thought the rules didn't apply to forty-million-dollar shipping contracts," Martin muttered, climbing into the front passenger seat.
May you like
As the sedan sped down the winding roads of Mapleton Hill toward the industrial corridors of the city, Leonard stared out the window at the flickering streetlights. Viona Calvani was a violin repairer. A craftsman. A woman who worked with wood, horsehair, and varnish. Why would a corporate giant like Kalin Freight, or a rogue enforcer like Vance Miller, care about a woman who fixed musical instruments?
There was a rot in his house, and it had just crawled out of the dark.
