Chapter 1 - The Red Blinking Light
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The doors closed with a heavy, final thud, leaving the enormous dining room feeling suddenly claustrophobic.
Emma stood beside the massive oak table, one side of her face still burning with a fierce, radiating heat where Harold had slapped her. She kept her hands folded over her white apron, trying to suppress the trembling in her fingers.
Marco Duca, the security chief, took the tiny listening device from Victor Blackwood and held it up to the light of the crystal chandelier. Marco was compact, square-shouldered, and frighteningly still. He was the kind of man who seemed to spend his entire life waiting for someone else to make a fatal mistake.
“No serial number,” Marco said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.
He ran a thick thumbnail carefully along the plastic seam of the bug.
“No commercial branding. It’s custom-built. High-grade. The battery on something this small would only last a few days if it was actively transmitting. It’s likely motion or voice-activated.”
Victor stood near the head of the table, his silver-gray eyes fixed on the device. He exuded an aura of absolute, terrifying control.
“Can you tell how long it was there?” Victor asked.
“The adhesive is fresh,” Marco replied, rubbing a bit of sticky residue between his fingers. “Not brittle at all. I’d say it was planted within the last forty-eight hours.”
Harold Whitmore, the senior butler, looked as though he were going to be sick. The color had completely drained from his usually ruddy face.
“Mr. Blackwood,” Harold stammered, his voice shaking. “I personally oversee the cleaning of this room. I swear to you, no outsider has been granted access. The perimeter alarms haven’t been tripped in months.”
“I know, Harold,” Victor said softly.
That soft tone was far worse than a shout. It was the tone Victor used when he had already decided someone’s fate.
“Which means,” Victor continued, slowly turning his gaze toward the three of them, “the person who planted this is someone who already lives behind my walls.”
Victor’s eyes finally landed on Emma. She swallowed hard, wishing she could shrink into the expensive Persian rug.
“And you,” Victor said, stepping toward her. “You noticed it because the chair was moved two inches.”
May you like
“Yes, sir,” Emma whispered.
“Show me.”
