Chapter 3
The flickering light from the hallway sconces cast long, jagged shadows across the polished floor. I stood frozen near the fireplace. Teresa was breathing softly, her eyes closed in exhaustion. Sofia walked over to me, her boots making no sound on the thick Persian rug. “You’re Hannah?” Sofia asked. I nodded slowly. “Yes. I’m the maid.” “Not anymore,” Sofia said with a grim smile. “My brother doesn’t give that master key card to just anyone. He trusts you.” “I didn’t do anything special,” I whispered. “I just didn’t want your mother to sit alone.” Sofia touched my shoulder. “That’s more than anyone else in this house has done for years.” Suddenly, the massive wall-mounted security monitor in the corner crackled to life. The screen flashed from static to a crystal-clear high-definition feed. It showed the underground family crypt. A subterranean stone chamber located beneath the western gardens. Heavy iron gates. Sealed three years ago with a welded padlock. I stared at the screen. My breath caught in my throat. Someone was standing inside the crypt. A figure draped in a black cloak. Moving slowly among the marble sarcophagi. “Sofia,” I pointed at the screen. “Look.” Sofia spun around. Her eyes widened in sheer disbelief. “That’s impossible,” she breathed. “The lock was welded shut. Only Luca and the head warden have the master acetylene torch codes.” On the screen, the hooded figure stopped in front of Catherine’s white marble tomb. The figure raised a heavy iron crowbar.Clang. The sound echoed faintly through the mansion’s intercom system.Clang! The marble lid began to slide. “They’re opening the casket,” I whispered, horror gripping my chest. Sofia didn’t hesitate. She grabbed a heavy brass fireplace poker from the stand. “Come on,” she said. “Where?” I asked. “To the crypt. Before they destroy whatever evidence is left.” I looked back at Teresa. The old woman was drifting off to sleep, her breathing steady. I couldn’t leave her. “I have to stay with your mother,” I said. Sofia hesitated for a second. Then she nodded. “Lock the doors behind me. Don’t let anyone in. Anyone.” She sprinted toward the service staircase. I rushed to the heavy oak doors and threw the deadbolt. The heavy click echoed in the silent room. I walked back to Teresa’s chair. My hands were shaking uncontrollably. I stared at the security monitor. The hooded figure had successfully pushed the marble lid halfway off Catherine’s tomb. The camera angle was positioned high in the corner of the crypt. It captured everything. The figure reached down into the velvet-lined casket. They pulled out a small, leather-bound journal. Catherine’s personal diary. The book Luca had searched for three years ago. The book Vanessa claimed had been burned in a house fire. I leaned closer to the screen. The hooded figure lowered the hood. My jaw dropped. It wasn’t a stranger. It wasn’t Vanessa, because Vanessa was locked in the basement. It was Thomas. Luca’s personal attorney and right-hand man for over a decade. Thomas flipped open the diary under the dim emergency light of the crypt. He pulled a small digital scanner from his coat pocket. He began scanning the pages one by one.Flash. Flash. Flash. The blue light illuminated his cold, calculating face. So Thomas wasn’t loyal to Luca at all. He was the mastermind. Or at least, a major player in whatever conspiracy destroyed Catherine’s life. I reached for the house telephone on the mahogany desk. I picked up the receiver. I dialed the internal extension for the basement security room where Vanessa was being held. Ring. Ring. Ring. Nobody answered. I tried the direct line to Luca’s private mobile. It went straight to voicemail.“You have reached Luca Moretti. Leave a message.” “Mr. Moretti!” I whispered frantically into the phone. “Mr. Moretti, can you hear me? It’s Thomas! Thomas is in the crypt!” Suddenly, the telephone line went completely dead. A sharp, high-pitched squeal hissed through the earpiece.BEEEEEP. I pulled the phone away. The screen on the wall flickered again. The live feed from the crypt went black. Replaced by a static snowstorm. Then, a voice crackled over the mansion’s intercom speakers. It wasn’t Sofia. It wasn’t Luca. It was a smooth, chilling baritone voice. “Nice try, Hannah.” My blood ran cold. It was Thomas’s voice. “You shouldn’t be watching things that don’t concern a maid,” the voice continued smoothly. I spun around, scanning the grand dining room. The heavy velvet curtains rustled slightly. A cool draft swept across the floor. The front windows were locked. So how did the draft get in? I backed away slowly, my hand brushing against the edge of the dining table. The double doors at the main entrance rattled.Rattle. Rattle. Someone was turning the exterior handle. Even though I had thrown the deadbolt. “Hannah,” a voice hissed from outside the heavy wooden door. It was Sofia. No—wait. Sofia had gone down the service staircase to the western gardens. She wouldn’t be coming back through the front main entrance so fast. “Hannah, open up!” the voice called out again. It sounded like Sofia. Identical tone. Identical pitch. But something was terribly wrong. The voice on the intercom was still speaking. “She’s not at the front door, Hannah,” Thomas’s voice chuckled softly through the speakers. “That’s just the greeting committee.” I looked back at the front doors. A dark shadow appeared through the frosted glass panels. A tall silhouette. Raising a heavy object. CLIFFHANGER: The glass of the front door shattered inward in an explosion of shards, and a gloved hand reached through the broken frame to turn the deadbolt from the inside.
