Chapter 2 - Shadows in the East Wing
The side service door yielded quietly to my lockpick set—a skill I had picked up years ago during an asset recovery investigation in Manhattan. The interior of the Mercer mansion smelled faintly of beeswax, expensive potpourri, and underlying decay, like a grand museum built over a swamp. Thick Persian runners muffled my footsteps as I navigated the maze of ground-floor hallways, keeping my movements low and deliberate, using the shadows cast by antique sconces to shield myself from view.
According to the architectural blueprints of the estate—which I had subtly pulled up on public county property records during the drive over—the eastern wing of the mansion housed the original 19th-century cellar systems, alongside a series of administrative rooms and private family quarters rarely shown to guests.
As I crept toward the grand central staircase leading down toward the sub-level, a muffled sound cut through the ambient hum of the central heating.
It was a low, rhythmic scratching noise, followed by the faint, choked sound of someone weeping.
My pulse spiked. I ducked behind a massive marble pillar as heavy footsteps echoed from the upper balcony. Richard Mercer, Daniel’s father, walked past the railing, his whiskey glass clinking in his hand as he muttered angrily to himself about portfolio valuations and quarterly margins. I held my breath, flattening my body against the cold marble until his footsteps faded down the western hallway.
Moving swiftly, I slipped through a heavy oak door marked as a linen closet, only to find a concealed push-latch panel built into the back wall. Pushing against it, the panel swung open silently on oiled hinges, revealing a steep, narrow flight of uncarpeted wooden stairs descending into darkness.
This was it. The hidden artery of the house.
I flicked on the penlight attached to my tactical cap, shielding the beam with my hand to cast a narrow, dim circle of light. The air grew noticeably colder and damper the deeper I went, carrying a sharp, chemical tang that made my nose sting. It smelled like industrial disinfectants mixed with metallic iron—the unmistakable scent of a sterile medical environment operating completely off the grid.
May you like
At the bottom of the stairs, a heavy metal fire door stood slightly ajar. A thin sliver of fluorescent white light bled out onto the concrete floor.
I crept forward, my boots making zero sound, and pressed my eye against the gap in the doorframe. What I saw inside made my blood run instantly cold, turning my stomach into a knot of pure, unadulterated fury.
