Chapter 5 - The St. Charles Betrayal
The Dupré mansion was a masterpiece of antebellum architecture, surrounded by weeping willows and iron gates.
Marin walked up the stone steps, her white cane tapping a steady rhythm. She was accompanied by Reed, August's trusted lieutenant, who was disguised as her driver and carrying her tool bag.
Julian Dupré, a silver-haired man with the polished manners of old Southern aristocracy, greeted her in the grand parlor.
"Ah, Miss Callaway," Julian said, his voice warm and inviting. "The auction house spoke very highly of your work on the Bösendorfer. I hope you can work the same magic on my Steinway."
"Instruments are very responsive to their environments, Mr. Dupré," Marin said, taking her seat at the massive grand piano. "I'm sure we can restore its voice."
As she began to strike the keys, her ears tuned not to the notes, but to the room.
Julian was pacing. His footsteps were uneven, his leather shoes clicking sharply on the marble. His breathing was shallow, his chest tight.
"A beautiful house," Marin remarked as she adjusted a tuning pin. "So quiet. Though I imagine you have many visitors."
"Not many these days, my dear," Julian said. "The city is... tense. August Rail has shut down the shipping lanes. The port is in gridlock."
"Really?" Marin asked, pretending ignorance. "I don't pay much attention to the news."
"You should," Julian said, his voice dropping slightly, a subtle vibration of fear entering his tone. "A storm is coming. The old ways are changing. August is a strong man, but even the strongest oak can split in a high wind."
Suddenly, the front doors of the mansion creaked open.
"Julian!" a harsh, impatient voice barked from the foyer. "Is the girl here? Vance is losing his patience. The docks are crawling with Rail's men, and we need to move now."
It was Victor Vance.
Marin’s fingers froze on the keys.
May you like
Julian gasped, his heartbeat spiking so loudly Marin could practically hear it from across the room. "Victor! You shouldn't be here! She’s in the parlor!"
"I don't care," Vance sneered, his heavy footsteps approaching the parlor door. "August is outside. My scouts spotted his car two blocks away. He fell for the trap, Julian. Today, we put the King of New Orleans in his grave."
