Chapter 3 - WHISPERS IN THE WING
The east wing of the Cole estate smelled of old parchment and rain.
Rain lashed mercilessly against the tall arched windows.
Lightning fractured the dark New York sky.
Daisy hurried down the dimly lit corridor.
Her soft-soled shoes made no sound on the Persian rug.
She held a silver tray with a cup of black coffee.
Evander had not slept since the banquet.
She approached the heavy double doors of his private office.
The oak was scarred with old knife marks from past rivals.
Before she could knock, a muffled voice drifted out.
"I don't care about the board of directors," Evander growled.
"Find the doctor who signed the death certificate."
"Dig up the grave if you have to."
Daisy hesitated, her knuckles hovering inches from the wood.
She knew the dangers of prying into syndicate business.
One wrong step meant a shallow grave in the New Jersey marshes.
Yet, her curiosity burned brighter than fear.
Six years ago, she had been a young nursing student.
She had worked part-time at St. Jude's pediatric ward.
The night little Leo Cole supposedly drowned in the estate pool.
The official story was a tragic accident during a violent storm.
The nanny had looked away for barely two minutes.
The body was recovered downstream the next morning.
Or at least, that was what the police report claimed.
Daisy remembered staring at the closed morgue doors.
She remembered Marceline signing the release forms.
The cold, detached expression on the future bride's face.
There were no tears. Only calculated efficiency.
Suddenly, the office door yanked open.
Evander stood framed in the yellow light.
His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.
Muscles strained along his powerful forearms.
His dark eyes locked onto Daisy instantly.
"How long have you been standing there?" he demanded.
Daisy did not flinch, though her breath hitched.
"Just arrived, sir. I brought your coffee."
Evander stared at her face for three long seconds.
His gaze searched her eyes for any sign of deceit.
"Enter," he commanded, stepping aside.
The office was a shrine to power and paranoia.
Monitors lined one entire wall, displaying security feeds.
Every corridor, every gate, every dark corner of the estate.
"Put it on the desk," Evander instructed.
Daisy stepped forward and placed the silver tray down.
As she turned to leave, a screen caught her eye.
It showed the underground parking garage.
Marceline's private black Mercedes was idling by the exit.
A hooded figure was leaning against the driver's side door.
The figure handed Marceline a heavy leather duffel bag.
Evander noticed Daisy's eyes darting toward the monitor.
A muscle twitched along his jawline.
"She thinks she can run," Evander whispered coldly.
"She thinks my guards are still loyal to her bloodline."
"Are they?" Daisy asked before she could stop herself.
Evander turned his head slowly.
A dangerous smile touched the corner of his lips.
"Let's find out together."
He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a heavy steel revolver.
He checked the chamber with a practiced, rhythmic click.
"You have a sharp eye, Daisy," Evander noted.
"You found the bug under my chair."
"You noticed the car in the garage."
"Are you just a housemaid from Queens?"
Daisy swallowed hard, feeling the cold weight of his scrutiny.
"I am just trying to survive in this house, Mr. Cole."
"Survival is an art form," Evander replied softly.
"And right now, you are my only ally."
He handed her a small, encrypted burner phone.
"If the guards at the perimeter try to stop us, call me."
"Us?" Daisy's eyes widened.
"You are coming with me to the garage," Evander commanded.
"If Marceline is running, she is running to Graham."
And Graham holds the key to my son.
They stepped out into the stormy corridor together.
The thunder shook the mansion's foundation.
Every step felt like walking toward a firing squad.
They descended the grand marble staircase in silence.
The echoes of their footsteps blended with the storm outside.
Reaching the ground floor, they slipped through the service exit.
The cold rain soaked Daisy's uniform instantly.
Mud squelched beneath her black leather shoes.
They crept toward the subterranean garage entrance.
Red emergency lights bathed the concrete pillars in blood.
Marceline's Mercedes was revving its engine loudly.
The hooded figure had vanished into the shadows.
Marceline sat behind the steering wheel, crying hysterically.
Her garnet gown was torn at the shoulder.
She threw the gear into reverse with trembling hands.
Evander stepped out from behind a concrete pillar.
His tall, commanding silhouette blocked the exit ramp.
The Mercedes headlights blinded him instantly.
The tires screeched against the wet concrete.
Marceline slammed on the brakes just inches from his knees.
She rolled down the driver's side window.
Rain blew across her face like shattered glass.
"Get out of my way, Evander!" she screamed.
Her voice lost all its high-society elegance.
It sounded feral, desperate, and unhinged.
"Where is my son, Marceline?" Evander asked quietly.
May you like
His voice cut through the roaring engine noise.
[CLIFFHANGER: Marceline laughed hysterically, pointing a silver pistol right at his chest: "You'll never find him! He's buried where the tide never reaches!"]
