Chapter 5: The Knock on the Door
Before Elena could answer, a sharp, metallic sound cut through the quiet of the estate.
Clank.
It was the heavy iron latch of the front courtyard gate, followed by the crunch of heavy boots on the gravel driveway outside. The sound was unmistakable, deliberate, and terrifyingly close.
Clara let out a small gasp, her body going rigid. She dropped the necklace back against her chest, where it disappeared beneath the front of her white dress, and grabbed handfuls of Richard’s tuxedo fabric, burying her face against his side. Richard instinctively wrapped his arm around her, pulling her tight against his hip, while his free hand reached out to grab Elena by the arm, dragging her away from the line of sight of the tall glass front doors.
“Get down,” Richard hissed, his voice dropping into a harsh military cadence he hadn’t used since his college days. “Both of you, behind the staircase base. Now.”
They scrambled behind the thick carved oak panels supporting the grand staircase. The shadows here were deep, thick with dust and safety, offering a minimal barrier against whatever was coming through the door. Richard crouched in front of them, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He scanned the hallway for a weapon, finding nothing except a heavy brass decorative umbrella stand near the coat rack. It wasn't much, but it was better than bare hands.
Another sound followed—a heavy, rhythmic thud against the thick mahogany of the front door. Not a knock of someone seeking shelter, but the calculated, heavy rap of authority, or worse, violence.
“Open the door,” a voice called from the outside. It was muffled by the thick wood, yet carried a cold, flat cadence that lacked any human warmth. “We know you are inside. Open the door, and no one gets hurt.”
Elena pressed her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with terror. She looked at Richard, her expression begging him not to answer, not to engage. But Richard knew the futility of hiding in a house with floor-to-ceiling glass windows and perimeter security cameras that had likely already been disabled or hacked.
“Richard, don’t,” Elena whispered, her fingers catching his sleeve. “If you open that door, we are dead.”
“If I don’t open it, they will kick it in within thirty seconds,” Richard whispered back, his mind working at lightning speed. He assessed their options. There was a service staircase at the back of the kitchen that led down to the old wine cellar, but getting Clara across the open expanse of the dining room without being seen through the side windows was a massive risk.
The heavy rapping on the door came again, harder this time. The wood groaned in its frame.
“Final warning,” the voice outside stated, completely devoid of emotion.
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Richard looked down at Clara. The little girl was shaking so violently that he could feel it through the floorboards. She looked up at him, her tear-stained face a heartbreaking portrait of innocence caught in the crossfire of adult sins. He reached down, cupping her cheek with his palm, his thumb brushing away a stray tear.
“Stay right here with Mom,” Richard whispered, his voice steadying through sheer force of will. “No matter what happens, do not make a sound.”
