Chapter 7 - The Footsteps Above
The heavy footsteps on the cellar stairs were erratic, dragging heavily against the wooden steps as if someone was injured, or running in absolute, blind panic. Arthur froze mid-swing, the wrench hovering an inch above the rusted iron latch of the cistern hatch. He extinguished the penlight with a silent click, plunging the cellar back into absolute darkness, save for the faint, ambient moonlight filtering down through the cracks of the old door.
"Arthur!" a frantic, breathless voice hissed from the bottom of the stairs. It wasn't Victoria. It was a man's voice, raspy and soaked in terror. "Arthur, are you down there?"
Arthur squinted into the gloom, slowly lowering the wrench. He recognized the voice instantly: Marcus, the estate's head of security, a man who had sworn absolute loyalty to the Russo family for over a decade. But why would Marcus be locked in the cellar, or sneaking around in the dark?
"Marcus?" Arthur called out, his voice sharp and guarded. "Where is Victoria?"
A wet, hacking cough echoed from the stairs. "She... she didn't lock the house from the outside, Arthur. She locked us in. Someone else is in the house. Someone who let the troopers in through the service gate, but it wasn't the police. They’re wearing tactical gear."
Clara gasped, pulling Lily closer to her chest. "Tactical gear? You mean the police didn't arrive?"
"No," Marcus groaned, his footsteps shuffling closer until a heavy bulk slumped against the bottom step. A beam of light from Marcus’s dropped flashlight flickered across the concrete floor, illuminating a dark stain spreading rapidly across the front of his uniform shirt. It was blood. "They came through the back woods. They aren't state troopers, Arthur. They’re corporate extraction agents sent by the board."
Arthur felt the blood drain from his face. The board of directors at Russo Global had been trying to force a hostile buyout of his pharmaceutical holdings for months, threatening legal action, public scandals, and worse. If Victoria had allied with them, Lily wasn't just an inconvenient child throwing tantrums—she was the sole living heir to the controlling trust, and her sudden disappearance would legally dissolve Arthur’s voting power within forty-eight hours.
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"They're coming down the stairs," Marcus whispered, his breathing growing shallow and fast. "We have to move. Now."
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