Chapter 6 - The Blinking Green Light
The tiny green dot on the laptop webcam pulsed with a steady, hypnotic rhythm, casting a microscopic emerald reflection onto the polished mahogany desk. Ava stood frozen in the doorway, her breath hitching in her throat. The realization that she was being watched—not just by Marcus or Elena, but by someone sitting live behind a screen—hit her with the force of a physical blow.
She took a cautious step into the study, her eyes sweeping across the meticulously organized room. Unlike the dust and neglect that plagued the rest of the East Wing, this space was immaculate. A stack of freshly printed financial statements sat beside a half-empty mug of coffee that still had wisps of steam rising from its surface. Someone had been sitting here only minutes ago.
Ava walked toward the desk, her white knit sweater brushing against the edge of a leather armchair. She looked down at the open laptop screen. It wasn't displaying a desktop or a video feed; instead, it displayed a live satellite tracking map of the estate grounds, overlaid with pulsing red markers denoting movement along the perimeter fence.
Beside the laptop lay a handwritten journal bound in worn black leather. Ava’s trembling fingers reached out and opened the cover. The handwriting on the first page was violently jagged, scrawled in black ink that had bled slightly into the paper.
“They think burying the body ends the debt,” the entry read, dated just three days ago. “They think Ava won’t figure out why she was hired to clean the very room where the accident was staged. Marcus is a coward. Elena is a monster. But the truth will come out when the accounts are frozen.”
Ava dropped the journal as if it had burned her. Her mind spun wildly. The handwriting wasn't Elena's neat, sharp cursive, nor was it Marcus's bold, sloping scrip. It belonged to Nia—the girl who was supposed to be dead and buried under six feet of earth.
A sudden, sharp click echoed from the doorway behind her.
Ava whipped around, her heart leaping into her throat. The heavy oak door of the study was swinging shut, pulled by an unseen force. Before she could dive forward to catch it, a heavy thud resonated through the wood as the brass deadbolt slid into place from the outside, locking her securely inside the room.
"No! Wait!" Ava screamed, throwing her weight against the heavy oak panel. "Open the door!"
Footsteps retreated rapidly down the Persian runner in the hallway, moving with the heavy, deliberate tread of a man wearing expensive dress shoes. It wasn't Marcus. The steps were lighter, faster, accompanied by the faint, distinctive jingle of a second set of keys.
Through the muffled wood, a cold, unfamiliar voice spoke softly from the corridor.
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"Welcome to the trap, little sister. You shouldn't have opened the box."
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