Chapter 3 - The Empty Room
Adrian’s head snapped toward the guard. “What kind of problem?”
“The east sitting room,” the guard panted. “We checked the perimeter cameras after hearing a noise from the terrace doors. Celeste is gone.”
The temperature in the kitchen plummeted. Adrian crossed the room in three long strides, grabbing the guard by the lapel of his jacket.
“Gone? The room is on the second floor! There are guards stationed at the stairwell and the ground-level perimeter doors!”
“She didn't use the stairs, Boss,” the guard said, sweating profusely under Adrian’s grip. “She used the old servant service elevator—the one that connects the upper chambers directly to the wine cellar and the underground loading dock. It hasn't been used in five years, but the manual override latch was pulled from the inside.”
Hannah’s hand flew to her mouth. “The loading dock leads out to the ravine path behind the estate.”
“Which connects directly to the old Chicago & North Western railway maintenance tunnel,” Adrian finished, releasing the guard with a shove that sent him stumbling back against the pantry. “The tunnel exits three miles down the road near Lake Michigan.”
Adrian turned around, grabbing his leather holster and service pistol from the side table where he had tossed it earlier that morning.
“Boss, should we mobilize the vehicles?” the guard asked, reaching for his radio.
“No,” Adrian said coldly, checking the magazine of his weapon with a sharp clack. “If Celeste reaches the main road, she’ll try to contact her father’s legal contacts or catch a flight out of O’Hare under an alias. She’s desperate, and a desperate rat has sharp teeth. Lock down the estate gates. Nobody in, nobody out. I’m going down to the service tunnels myself.”
He turned toward Hannah, who was standing by the kitchen island, her chest heaving with anxiety.
“Stay here,” Adrian commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Lock the interior doors. Do not open them for anyone except me or Detective Price when he arrives.”
“Mr. Moretti—Adrian,” Hannah said, stepping forward. “Let me come with you.”
“No.”
“I know the service passages better than you do,” Hannah argued stubbornly. “I’ve spent two years cleaning every nook, cranny, and forgotten storage closet in this mausoleum while you and your guards were busy looking at spreadsheets and security logs. If Celeste is trying to slip through the old maintenance tunnels, she’ll be heading toward the old boiler room junction. There’s a rusted iron door there that requires a specific counter-weight latch to open from the inside. If she doesn't know how to trip it, she’ll be trapped.”
Adrian stared at her for two seconds, weighing the danger against the tactical advantage.
“Fine,” he conceded, reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out a small, compact tactical flashlight, tossing it across the room. “Stay behind me. The moment you see anything moving in those shadows, you get behind my back. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” Hannah said, clicking the flashlight on and testing its beam against the dim kitchen light.
Noah, who had been watching from the doorway with wide, frightened eyes, ran forward and grabbed the hem of Hannah’s dress.
“Miss Hannah, don’t let the bad lady hurt you,” the boy whispered.
May you like
Hannah knelt down, pressing a quick, reassuring kiss to the top of his curly head. “I’ll be right back, Noah. I promise. You stay here with Mrs. Gable from the pantry, and keep building your block towers.”
With a final nod to Adrian, the two of them slipped through the pantry door and descended into the dark, forgotten underbelly of the Moretti mansion.
