Chapter 11
Panic threatened to overwhelm Emily, but years of surviving in a hostile household had taught her how to think clearly under extreme pressure. She stepped back from the front door, her mind racing. She didn't have a phone within arm's reach—she had left her mobile on the desk in the study down the hall.
A loud, metallic crash echoed through the foyer as the intruders slammed their weight against the heavy oak double doors. The deadbolt groaned under the sudden assault, the reinforced wood splintering slightly around the frame. They were not going to wait for her to open it.
Emily turned and sprinted down the corridor toward the study, her shoes clicking frantically against the marble floor. She burst into the room, grabbed her mobile phone from the desk, and immediately dialed Julian’s direct number.
The phone rang twice before Julian’s sharp voice picked up. "Emily? What's wrong?"
"Julian, someone is breaking in!" she whispered urgently, locking the study door from the inside and pressing her back against it. "They flashed fake federal badges, but when I refused to let them in, they started forcing the doors. They’re looking for the safe, Julian. They know it's here."
Over the line, Julian’s voice dropped an octave, turning ice-cold. "Listen to me very carefully, Emily. Do not make a sound. Hide in the walk-in architectural archive behind the bookshelf. I am five minutes away, and I’ve already alerted the local sheriff’s department. Hold on."
The line clicked dead. Emily didn't waste a second. She rushed to the back of the study, pulled aside a heavy velvet tapestry hanging over the wall-panelling, and pressed the hidden latch to the archival storage room—a secondary panic room built into the historic architecture of the estate. She slipped inside just as the heavy mahogany door of the main study splintered open with a deafening crash from the hallway.
Heavy footsteps echoed across the wooden floorboards of the study. Through the narrow, tinted glass panel of the archive door, Emily watched the shadows of three men move methodically through the room. They weren't looking for valuables to steal; they were tearing open drawers, ripping books from shelves, and heading straight for the secret alcove where the master safe was hidden.
One of the intruders grunted in frustration. "She must have moved the drive already. The safe is open, and the primary archives are gone."
"Find the girl," another voice snarled. "She couldn't have gotten far. If she has the contents of that safe, our careers—and our freedom—are finished."
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Emily held her breath, pressing her hand tightly over her mouth to muffle the sound of her own panicked breathing. She could hear them searching the perimeter of the room, their footsteps drawing closer and closer to the very tapestry hiding her sanctuary.
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