Chapter 3 - The Cage in the Mansion
The Hart estate stood on twenty acres of high, forested land overlooking Lake Michigan, far from the neon grittiness of the city center. It was a fortress of grey stone, wrought iron, and sixty-foot oak trees, surrounded by an eight-foot wall topped with hidden security sensors.
A sleek black limousine pulled up the long gravel driveway at two in the morning.
Inside, Maisie sat between her brother and the giant dog. Cyrus refused to sit on the leather floorboards; his massive head was jammed firmly into Maisie's lap, his tail occasionally thumping against the car door whenever she stroked his back. Leo sat stiffly across from them, his hands clenched in his lap, staring out the tinted windows at the passing wrought-iron gates as if they were entering a state penitentiary.
Julian sat opposite them, sipping amber liquid from a crystal glass, watching the trio with dark, quiet interest.
"This is ridiculous, Boss," Vic grumbled from the front passenger seat, turning his heavy head back. "The kid’s a liability. What if the dog snaps inside the house? Your sister is coming down from New York next week. If that brute bites Miss Clara—"
"If the dog snaps, I will shoot it myself, Vic," Julian said without lifting his eyes from his glass. "Until then, the animal stays where the girl stays."
The car stopped before the grand stone steps of the mansion. Two uniformed guards stepped forward to open the doors, drawing back sharply as Cyrus let out a deep, rumble-warning from the depths of the back seat.
"Easy," Maisie whispered, tapping the dog's nose gently with her index finger. "They're just door-openers. They smell like old cold tea."
The dog instantly quieted down, stepping out of the car right beside her, his shoulder pressed firmly against her corduroy-clad hip, acting as a living, breathing guide rail.
Julian stepped out after them, gesturing toward the wide oak front doors. "Welcome to your new home, Mr. Doyle. Your sister will have the corner suite on the second floor. You will occupy the room adjacent to her."
Leo stepped out onto the damp gravel, his posture defensive. "We aren't your prisoners, Mr. Hart. You said I work for you now. Doing what?"
Julian turned, his coat flaring slightly in the cold lake wind. "You are a mechanic, yes? My fleet of armored vehicles requires constant, discreet maintenance. You will work in the lower garages. You will be paid three thousand dollars a week. In exchange, your sister lives in safety, receives proper medical care for her eyes, and stays out of my sight when I am conducting business."
Leo swallowed hard. Three thousand dollars a week was more than his father had made in three months at the steel mills before the accident that killed both their parents three years ago.
"And the million dollars?" Leo asked cautiously.
"It is placed in a high-yield trust fund managed by my personal attorneys," Julian said smoothly. "She receives full access to it on her eighteenth birthday. Assuming she survives living under my roof."
Maisie didn't pay attention to the talk of money. She tilted her face up toward the dark sky, listening to the vast, hollow sound of the wind blowing across Lake Michigan a quarter-mile away.
"It's big here," she murmured, her hand tracing the smooth, cool stone of the mansion entrance. "And the house is sad."
Julian paused on the top step, his key turning in the polished brass lock. He glanced down at her. "Sad?"
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"It has too many empty rooms," Maisie said matter-of-factly, her boots stepping over the threshold. "And you have a clock in the hall that ticks too fast. It's nervous."
Julian stared at her back as she walked into the marble foyer, Cyrus stepping smoothly beside her like a four-legged shadow. For the first time in ten years, Julian felt a cold, strange itch at the back of his neck—a feeling that this blind orphan had just unlocked a door in his house he had spent decades trying to keep nailed shut.
