Chapter 5
Marcus spun around, his heart hammering against his ribs as the dim light from the hallway spilled across the Persian rug. Standing in the doorway of the master suite was Arthur, his wheelchair locked smoothly into place just past the threshold. The elderly man’s frail hands rested on the armrests, his clouded eyes fixed directly on Marcus with a cold, unsettling lucidity that completely contradicted his vacant public demeanor.
"You're looking in the wrong place, Marcus," Arthur said, his voice surprisingly firm and resonant, devoid of the raspy tremor he usually projected in front of guests.
Marcus exhaled a shaky breath, wiping a thin layer of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Arthur... you shouldn't be here. Derek said the family was staying at the club until tonight."
"Derek is arrogant," Arthur replied, maneuvering his chair a few inches forward into the room. "He thinks he controls every variable on this board. But he forgets who built this dynasty from the ground up." The old man gestured with a thin, pale finger toward the heavy oil painting of Eleanor that still swung slightly on its hinges. "Clara wasn't stupid. She knew Derek was tracking her digital footprint. She didn't leave the drive in the safe."
Marcus stepped closer, his professional composure returning as desperation took over. "Then where is it, Arthur? If the police find it before we do, Derek’s custody claims—and the entire estate—will unravel in forty-eight hours."
Arthur let out a dry, humorless chuckle that sounded like dry leaves scraping across pavement. "Clara gave it to the one person in this house Derek would never suspect of harboring a secret, because Derek believes everyone can be bought or intimidated."
Marcus’s eyes widened as the realization hit him. "Lily."
"The child has the small encrypted flash drive sewn into the lining of her favorite cloth doll," Arthur said softly. "The one she carries everywhere, even to her mother's funeral. Clara spent three hours sewing it in the nursery on Monday afternoon while Derek was at the board meeting."
Marcus stared at the old man, a chill running down his spine that had nothing to do with the mansion's lowered thermostat. "We need to get it back before Derek realizes what the girl was holding in the chapel."
"Derek already suspects," Arthur warned, his expression darkening. "He noticed the stitching on the doll's back yesterday morning. That's why he’s been watching her so closely. If you try to take it from her by force, Derek will stop you before you reach the front gate. You need a subtle hand, Marcus. Or better yet... you need to let the police find it on their own terms, so the blame falls entirely where it belongs."
Before Marcus could answer, the heavy rumble of a vehicle echoing from the gravel driveway below interrupted them. Headlights swept across the high ceilings of the master suite as Derek’s town car pulled beneath the portico, returning far earlier than scheduled from the burial site.
May you like
"He's back," Marcus whispered, panic gripping him again. "If he finds me in here..."
"Use the service stairwell behind the walk-in closet," Arthur instructed calmly, rolling his chair back into the hallway. "And Marcus? If Derek asks, you found nothing."
