Chapter 3 - The Estate in the Woods
The Keller estate sat at the end of a long, winding gravel drive in Upper Arlington, hidden behind thick groves of ancient oak trees and a eight-foot wrought-iron fence. It was a sprawling, stone Tudor-style mansion that looked more like an English manor than a suburban home.
Rain continued to fall in a steady, dreary drizzle as Marcus’s unmarked sedan pulled over onto a muddy shoulder two hundred yards down the road, completely obscured by the overgrown treeline.
Marcus turned off the headlights, leaving the cabin in shadowy darkness.
“Security on this place is high-end,” Marcus said low, pointing through the rain-streaked windshield toward the stone pillars of the gate. “Motion sensors along the perimeter fence, closed-circuit cameras on the driveway, and an automated alarm grid linked directly to a private security firm.”
Rebecca adjusted her dark rain coat, staring through the gloom at the distant lit windows of the second floor. “Where is his private office?”
“According to the property blueprints I pulled from the city records office, the library is on the west wing, ground floor,” Marcus pointed toward a large bay window framed by heavy stone arches. “It has a separate exterior door leading to a brick patio.”
“Is Keller inside right now?”
Marcus checked his phone screen. “My unit dropped a magnetic GPS tracker on his sedan while he was at the hospital. The vehicle is parked in the detached garage. He’s been inside for forty-five minutes.”
“Which means he’s already looking for that safe,” Rebecca said, her hand reaching for the door handle.
“Wait,” Marcus grabbed her arm, his grip firm. “We don't just walk up to the front door, Rebecca. If Keller catches us inside his home without a warrant, he’s legally permitted to use lethal force under state castle-doctrine laws. He could shoot us both dead on his rug and claim he was defending his property from intruders.”
“He won't shoot,” Rebecca said coldly. “A shooting brings every federal agent in the state to his doorstep within fifteen minutes. He wants quiet. He wants this to vanish.”
Marcus pulled a small black electronic device from his glove compartment—a frequency scanner used by federal tactical teams. “The perimeter fence alarm uses a standard radio-frequency pulse. I can bypass the sensor on the far north corner where the drainage ditch runs under the iron bars. But once we’re on the grounds, we have three minutes before the patrol camera sweeps back toward the west patio.”
“Three minutes is plenty,” Rebecca said.
They stepped out of the car, keeping low as they moved through the damp brush bordering the property fence. The cold rain soaked through Rebecca’s coat, but she barely noticed it. Her entire body was driven by a single, burning purpose.
They reached the north corner of the property. Marcus knelt in the wet mud, pressing the frequency jammer against the electronic junction box mounted to the iron gate post. A small red LED light flickered, turned yellow, and finally settled on a steady green.
“Fence sensor bypassed,” Marcus whispered. “Go.”
They slipped under the rusted iron bars where the concrete drainage channel had eroded the soil, dropping quietly onto the soft turf of the Keller estate grounds. Keeping to the dark shadows cast by the dense rhododendron bushes, they navigated the perimeter, staying clear of the sweeping beams of the security lights mounted near the main garage.
They reached the brick patio outside the library.
Through the heavy leaded-glass bay windows, the interior of the library was partially visible. The room was lined with floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves, a massive marble fireplace, and a large leather-topped desk littered with legal papers.
Inside stood Daniel Keller.
He had removed his suit jacket, his crisp white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was standing near a large, gilded oil painting of a countryside landscape mounted above the fireplace mantle.
With deliberate movements, Daniel reached behind the heavy gilded frame, pressed a hidden latch, and swung the entire painting outward on a concealed hinge.
Behind it, set deep into the reinforced stone brickwork, was a heavy steel wall safe with a digital keypad.
Rebecca’s breath hitched in her throat. The mirror... no, the painting.
Daniel typed a rapid six-digit code into the keypad. The electronic lock clicked softly, and the heavy steel door swung open.
Inside the dark recess of the safe lay several thick stacks of hundred-dollar bills, two passports, and a thick, blue leather-bound binder with a silver steel lock clasp.
Daniel reached inside, his hand wrapping firmly around the blue binder.
He turned toward the marble fireplace, where a low pile of wood kindled with dry paper was already flickering with a soft orange flame.
He opened the binder, pulled out the first thick stack of yellowed, handwritten pages, and moved toward the fire.
May you like
“He’s burning it,” Rebecca hissed, her self-control snapping.
Before Marcus could stop her, Rebecca grabbed a heavy cast-iron patio chair standing near the glass doors, lifted it with strength fueled by pure adrenaline, and shattered the leaded-glass pane of the French doors.
