Chapter 7: The Blueprint for Escape
Leo locked the smartphone screen and slipped the device back into his pocket, his mind racing through the tactical realities of their situation. The master suite had two exit points: the double doors leading directly to the main corridor where Martha and Sarah were undoubtedly regrouping, and a private balcony overlooking the rear courtyard, which connected via an exterior wrought-iron spiral staircase to the lower gardens.
“Can you walk?” Leo asked, looking down at Grace with an intensity that brooked no argument.
Grace nodded slowly, her color returning in patches as adrenaline began to replace the despair. She pulled her sapphire satin robe tighter, knotting the belt securely around her waist, and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. Her bare feet touched the herringbone floorboards. She winced slightly, the physical toll of the birth pulling at her muscles, but her posture straightened with a newfound resolve. “I can walk. Where are we going?”
“We’re getting out of here,” Leo said softly, standing up from the bed while keeping one arm securely wrapped around the sleeping newborn. He walked over to the mahogany wardrobe in the corner of the room, pulling open the doors. Inside hung rows of casual clothing, winter coats, and travel bags. He grabbed a heavy wool coat and tossed it toward Grace, who caught it deftly. “Get dressed in something warm. We’re taking the courtyard stairs.”
“The courtyard?” Grace’s eyes widened. “Martha has security cameras covering the perimeter. They’ll see us within thirty seconds.”
“Not if we cut through the old greenhouse tunnel,” Leo replied, his fingers flying over the keypad of the wall-mounted smart home console near the door. He was typing in the master override code—a code Martha didn't know he had updated last year when he took over the estate’s IT infrastructure. With a soft chime, the perimeter motion sensors along the east wing were temporarily disabled for a twenty-minute maintenance window. “The system thinks it’s undergoing a routine diagnostic check.”
Grace slipped her arms into the heavy wool coat, buttoning it up to her chin. She grabbed her leather handbag from the bedside table—which Sarah had apparently missed during her sweep—and checked the inside pocket. Her passport and car keys were still there, untouched. She looked up at Leo, a glimmer of fierce hope cutting through the exhaustion in her dark eyes. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure of one thing,” Leo said, walking back to her and taking her free hand in his. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, grounding her. “I let them manipulate us for too long. That stops today. We get to the car, we drive straight to the federal precinct in the city, and we file criminal charges.”
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Before Grace could answer, a sharp, metallic knock echoed against the double doors.
“Leo?” Martha’s voice rang out through the wood, smooth, composed, and laced with an underlying threat. “Open the door. We need to discuss this like civilized people. You cannot isolate yourself and the child with an unstable patient. Unlock the door now, or I will have security use the master key.”
