Chapter 6 - The Trail of Blood
The single drop of fresh crimson blood struck the white marble foyer with a sickeningly distinct plop, drawing every eye away from the sudden glare of the emergency lights. Marcus was the first to move, his long strides carrying him swiftly out of the drawing room and into the expansive, high-ceilinged hallway.
“Nobody leaves this floor,” Marcus ordered, his voice brooking no argument as he knelt beside the small smear of blood.
Eleanor followed at a measured, disdainful pace, her blue lace gown rustling with calculated elegance.
“Really, Marcus, are we going to investigate every scraped knee in a house full of clumsy servants?” she scoffed, though her eyes darted nervously toward the winding hallway leading to the service wing. “Someone probably broke a glass in the pantry.”
Julian hurried behind his mother, wiping a thin layer of nervous sweat from his forehead with the cuff of his blue silk bathrobe.
“It’s nothing. This is ridiculous. We should be calling the board to manage the media fallout from the hack attempt, not playing detective over a drop of paint or whatever this is.”
Katherine walked slowly behind them, her black dress sweeping the floor like a shroud. She didn’t look at the blood; her gaze remained fixed on the heavy antique grandfather clock standing at the end of the hall—a clock that had been stopped at precisely midnight for the past three decades.
Clara lagged behind the group, her hand still resting protectively over the heavy blue sapphire necklace. The bruises on her neck ached fiercely, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the suffocating dread tightening in her chest. She stared down at the marble floor, noticing a second droplet of blood a few inches away, then a third, forming a distinct trail that led directly toward the locked archives room.
“The archives,” Clara whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the air conditioning.
Marcus heard her. He rose abruptly, his hand resting on the brass handle of the heavy oak archives door. He tested it; it was locked tight, just as it always was. But the crimson trail led right under the gap of the threshold, vanishing into the darkness within.
“Step back,” Marcus warned, pulling a heavy brass key ring from his tailored trousers.
Eleanor’s composure finally cracked. Her face twisted into genuine panic as she lunged forward, grabbing Marcus’s wrist with surprising force.
“You cannot open that room without a court order! There are proprietary family documents in there that—that have nothing to do with this audit!”
Marcus slowly peeled Eleanor’s fingers away from his wrist, his expression like granite.
May you like
“If there is a body in there, Mrs. Sterling, a court order is the least of your concerns.”
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