Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14 — THE LODGE AT THE EDGE OF THE WORLD
The caretaker’s lodge was a small, stone building hidden deep within the dense woods at the edge of the Whitmore property line. It had been abandoned for years, its windows boarded up, covered in ivy.
Alexander burst through the rotting wooden door, collapsing onto a dusty velvet sofa. The bleeding hadn't stopped, and his face was dangerously gray.
"Claire, pressure on his shoulder," Eleanor ordered immediately, ripping the old drapes from the window to use as a makeshift tourniquet. "Anna, look through the cabinets. There should be an old emergency radio or a landline that doesn't run through the main house grid."
Lily sat in the corner, her small knees pulled up to her chin, holding the single red baby shoe like a protective talisman. The storm outside was beginning to break, the thunder moving farther east, leaving behind a heavy, mocking silence.
Claire worked frantically, her hands covered in her brother’s blood. "He’s burning up, Mother. He needs a hospital right now."
"We can't call an ambulance to the main estate," Eleanor said, her voice dropping as she looked out the cracked window toward the distant lights of the mansion. Blue and red police lights were flashing through the trees, but there were also dark, unmarked vans parked along the service road. "The police aren't in control out there yet. Arthur’s network goes deep into the local precinct. We don't know who is a cop and who is a mercenary."
Suddenly, the old rotary phone on the wall of the lodge let out a loud, jarring ring.
Everyone froze. Nobody was supposed to know this number existed.
Eleanor walked over, her hand steady as she lifted the heavy black receiver. "Who is this?"
A cold, synthesized voice spoke through the line.
"Mrs. Whitmore. You have the white box, but you don't have the key. The records Claire stole are encrypted with an old biometric algorithm. If you want the password to unlock the files and save your family from total financial ruin, you will bring the child to the old pier at midnight. Alone."
May you like
"Arthur is bleeding out on my floor," Eleanor countered. "Who are you?"
The voice chuckled—a sound that made Eleanor’s blood run colder than Arthur’s voice ever could. "Arthur was a loud distraction. We are the people who funded him. You have sixty minutes, Eleanor. Choose wisely."
