Chapter 13
The taxi crunched softly up the long, winding gravel driveway of the Westport estate, coming to a halt before the imposing double doors of the mansion. The grand house loomed against the ink-black sky like a gothic fortress, its tall windows dark and foreboding. Valeria paid the driver with trembling hands, practically tumbled out of the vehicle, and watched as the taxi sped away down the drive, leaving her completely alone in the chilling silence of the estate.
She walked up the grand stone steps, her heels echoing hollowly in the night. The heavy oak front door, usually locked tight, swung open with a slow, agonizing squeak at her lightest push.
"Hello?" Valeria called out, her voice timid and swallowed instantly by the vast, cavernous foyer.
There was no answer. Only the smell of old dust, polished mahogany, and faint, lingering traces of her mother’s expensive perfume.
Valeria stepped inside, pulling a small flashlight from her cream handbag. The beam cut through the darkness, illuminating the grand staircase and the rows of family portraits lining the walls. For the first time, she noticed something deeply unsettling about the portraits: in every single framed photograph, her father’s face had been subtly altered or obscured by shadows, while her mother stood firmly in the center, an unyielding pillar of iron.
She walked past the living room toward the east wing—the restricted area her mother had mentioned in the video. The heavy mahogany door stood slightly ajar. A thin strip of amber light spilled out from the gap, casting a warm, unnatural glow across the polished hardwood floor.
Valeria crept forward, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain anyone inside could hear it. She pushed the door open gently and stepped into the room.
It wasn't an office or a library. It was a high-tech subterranean command center disguised as a study. Monitors lined the walls, displaying live feeds of federal holding cells, police precincts, and—to her absolute horror—a live feed of Julian sitting tied to a chair in an unknown warehouse, battered and bruised.
Standing in front of the massive control console was Arthur. He wasn't in cuffs anymore. He had discarded his blue suit jacket, rolling up his sleeves as his fingers danced across the keyboard with chilling efficiency.
"I knew you’d come, Valeria," Arthur said calmly without turning around, as if he had been expecting her all evening.
Valeria froze, her hand gripping the strap of her cream handbag like a lifeline. "Where is Julian? What did you do to him?"
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Arthur turned slowly, a smug, dark smile playing on his lips. "Julian played his role brilliantly, my dear. But federal agents are so easily manipulated when you dangle the promise of a promotion in front of them. Now, step up to the biometric scanner. Your mother left the final archive locked, and only a direct blood descendant can open it."
Valeria took a slow step backward, her eyes darting toward the exit. But before she could move, the heavy mahogany door slammed shut behind her with a resounding crash, and two armed men stepped out from the shadows, blocking her only way out.
