Chapter 6
Thomas took another slow step forward, the heavy steel shears glinting ominously in the dim light. "Smart boys stay where they’re told, Leo," Thomas muttered, his boots crushing the dry autumn leaves just a few feet away from the weeping willow. "Your uncle only wants what's best for the family estate. Your mother... she was a complication. People like her don't belong in the high-stakes world your father built before he passed away." Leo’s hazel eyes flared with sudden comprehension. It wasn't just about money; it was a premeditated conspiracy involving the entire fortune his father had left behind.
Without warning, Leo hurled the loose piece of slate into the far corner of the garden. It struck an empty tin watering can with a loud, metallic clatter. Thomas instantly pivoted toward the noise, swinging his shears in a defensive arc. "Over there!" he grunted, charging past the willow tree. That split-second distraction was all Leo needed. He bolted from his hiding place in the opposite direction, sprinting across the open gravel path toward the old stone toolshed tucked away behind the rectory.
The toolshed door was unlocked, a rusted padlock hanging loosely from the hasp. Leo slipped inside, pulling the heavy wooden door closed until it clicked softly. The interior smelled of old gasoline, damp soil, and rusted iron. Rows of garden tools hung neatly on pegboards, but Leo’s eyes locked onto something far more useful: a heavy-duty copper-handled wire cutter and an old-fashioned landline telephone mounted on the wooden partition wall, its cord dangling uselessly. He picked up the heavy receiver, pressing it eagerly to his ear. As expected, there was only a flat, dead tone. Arthur had severed the outside lines at the main junction box.
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However, the junction box wiring ran directly along the outer wall of the shed. Leo set the receiver down and grabbed the heavy wire cutters, his small hands straining to open the heavy jaws of the tool. If he could splice the backup emergency line—which the local volunteer fire department used for rural properties—he might get a dial tone through to emergency services. Outside, heavy footsteps crunched on the gravel path approaching the toolshed door. A thick shadow fell across the frosted glass windowpane as Thomas stopped directly outside.
"Little rats always hide in the holes," Thomas growled, his hand rattling the loose padlock on the outside of the door. The latch rattled violently, and the wooden frame groaned under the pressure. Leo held his breath, raising the heavy wire cutters like a weapon, his small frame trembling with a mixture of terror and fierce defiance. The door gave a loud crack as Thomas threw his weight against it, splintering the ancient wood and forcing the door open wide enough for his arm to reach inside.
