Chapter 12 - The Magistrate's Estate
The drive to Judge Richard Vance’s estate took forty-five minutes of reckless, high-speed navigation through the winding suburban hills outside the city. Julian gripped the steering wheel of his rental car so tightly his knuckles ached, while Noah sat rigidly in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead through the rain-slicked windshield as a sudden afternoon storm began to break. The black smartphone buzzed intermittently in the center console—incoming notifications from news agencies picking up the leaked data package.
"If my uncle has her," Julian said, breaking the heavy silence as they turned down a private, tree-lined gravel driveway, "we can't just kick the door down and start a fight. Richard is connected to federal judges, police chiefs, and politicians. We need proof, and we need to get the child out safely before he realizes the system is collapsing around him."
Noah didn't look at him. His jaw remained clenched, his eyes fixed on the imposing iron gates of the estate that loomed ahead through the sheets of falling rain. "If he touches one hair on my daughter's head, Julian, federal judge or not, I will tear this place down to the foundations."
The car rolled to a halt in front of a sprawling, colonial-style mansion surrounded by manicured gardens that looked hauntingly similar to the floral arrangements in the wedding hall. The house was dark, save for a single light burning in the second-floor study.
Julian shifted the car into park and cut the engine. "Stay here," Julian said, reaching for the door handle. "Let me go in first. He’s my uncle. He might listen to me before he calls security."
"I'm not sitting in a car while my daughter is inside that tomb," Noah snapped, pushing his door open and stepping out into the cold, pouring rain.
Julian sighed, stepping out into the downpour as well, letting the freezing water soak through his expensive tuxedo jacket. They walked rapidly up the stone steps to the heavy front entrance. Julian didn't bother knocking; he tried the brass handle, half-expecting it to be locked, but the heavy oak door swung open smoothly with a soft, ominous creak.
The foyer was grand, smelling faintly of old leather and pipe tobacco. A grandfather clock ticked heavily in the corner, marking the seconds with agonizing slowness. From somewhere down the dark hallway, the faint sound of a baby crying could be heard.
Noah stopped dead in his tracks, his head snapping toward the sound. "That’s her," he whispered, his paternal instinct overriding every ounce of caution.
May you like
Without waiting for Julian, Noah bolted down the hallway toward the back of the house, following the sound of the infant's cries through the shadows of the sprawling estate.
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