Chapter 6 - The Uninvited Witness
The heavy oak front door groaned, splintering down the middle before swinging wide open. Sunlight cut a sharp, blinding swath through the dim hallway, illuminating floating dust motes that danced in the sudden draft. A tall man in a damp trench coat stepped across the threshold, his leather shoes clicking methodically against the hardwood floor.
Detective Miller did not look like a man surprised to find himself inside a sealed estate. He carried a weathered leather briefcase in one hand and a thick manila folder in the other. He stopped at the entrance of the living room, taking in the scene with tired, cynical eyes.
"Nice rug," Miller said, his voice a gravelly baritone that filled the silent house. He looked down at the shattered glass around his shoes, then up at Marcus holding the grey suit lapels, and finally at Julian pointing a silver revolver straight at his chest.
"Put the gun down, Julian," Miller said evenly, not even flinching at the firearm. "It doesn't work on carbon-based life forms outside the perimeter."
Julian’s finger tightened on the trigger, the metal hammer cocking back with a sharp click. "Who are you working for? The board liquidated this project months ago!"
"The board didn't account for the family estate being built on top of an old municipal archive," Miller replied, stepping further into the room. He tossed the manila folder onto the intact corner of the marble coffee table. It landed with a heavy thud right beside a puddle of spilled wine. "Ten years ago, Claire didn't fall through a table. She was pushed down the grand staircase during a probate hearing."
Elena let out a sharp gasp, stumbling backward until her back hit the bookshelf. "He knows. The history file wasn't fully encrypted."
Claire walked slowly toward the table, ignoring the glass crunching beneath her bare feet. She picked up the manila folder, her fingers tracing the faded red stamp across the cover: CASE CLOSED - ACCIDENTAL DEATH.
"It was never an accident," Claire said softly, opening the folder to reveal black-and-white crime scene photos of a marble staircase drenched in shadow. She looked up at Julian, her green eyes burning with a fury that no computer code could ever simulate. "You staged the whole thing to steal the patent, and then you built this digital purgatory to keep my ghost from testifying."
Miller pulled a small metal device from his trench coat pocket and placed it gently on the edge of the coffee table. A tiny blue light began to blink on its surface, casting an eerie glow across the room.
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"The simulation is collapsing," Miller said, looking around as the walls of the living room began to flicker like a dying television screen. "You have about three minutes before the power grid blows, and everything in this house—and everyone in it—gets formatted permanently."
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