Chapter 5: The Estate Return
We slipped out the back service exit of the Crossroads Grill just as Miller pushed open the swinging kitchen doors. The humid night air hit my face like a wet blanket as we sprinted across the gravel alleyway toward Arthur's dented sedan. Tires screamed against the asphalt as Arthur threw the car into reverse, kicking up a shower of loose stones before we rocketed out onto the highway without headlights until we rounded the first sharp curve in the road.
"He made us," I breathed heavily, clutching the dashboard as the car leaned hard into a hairpin turn. "They know we have the backup drive. They're going to tear your office apart, Arthur."
"Let them," Arthur growled, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. "The physical files are already in a safety deposit box at the federal credit union downtown. Everything else is encrypted in the cloud. But that means Julian knows we're not backing down. And it means Claire is in mortal danger."
We couldn't go back to Arthur's office, and we couldn't risk meeting Claire at the boathouse anymore. The game had changed from a quiet investigation into an open hunt. But as the adrenaline slowly ebbed into a dull, aching exhaustion, a desperate realization took hold of my mind. Julian Vance was a man of immense pride and rigid routine. On Thursday nights, he always attended a private executive board meeting at the Vance Foundation headquarters downtown—a meeting that lasted precisely three hours, during which his private residence on the cliffside of Oak Ridge was left under minimal security.
"I have to go back to the estate," I said suddenly, turning to look at Arthur.
Arthur slammed his foot on the brake, the car skidding slightly on the damp autumn leaves before coming to a dead stop on the shoulder of the deserted road. He stared at me as if I had lost my mind. "Have you completely forgotten what happened at the gala? You're a wanted person on their internal blacklist. If Julian catches you on his property, you won't make it out alive."
"I left my service jacket behind in the staff quarters when I fled," I replied, my voice steady despite the hammering of my heart. "In the pocket of that jacket is the physical master keycard to Julian's private study. Not the digital logs—the physical override card that doesn't register on the security gateway. If we want hard proof of the financial wire transfers linked to those medical aliases, it's inside his personal wall safe."
Arthur rubbed his temples, a deep crease forming between his brows. For a long, agonizing minute, the only sound inside the car was the ticking of the cooling engine and the steady patter of light rain hitting the roof. Finally, he let out a long, defeated sigh.
"If you get caught, Maya, I can't pull you out," Arthur said, his voice grim. "The police won't listen to a former maid trespassing on a billionaire's estate. You'll be locked away before midnight."
"Then I won't get caught," I said, opening the passenger door.
An hour later, I stood at the edge of the wrought-iron perimeter fence surrounding the Vance estate, the familiar towering oaks shielding me from the glaring security floodlights. The damp earth smelled of wet mulch and crushed pine needles. Using a pair of wire cutters Arthur had kept in his trunk, I snipped through the rusted link of the side service gate with agonizing slowness, making sure each snap was muffled by the distant rumble of thunder.
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The estate was eerily quiet, the grand limestone mansion looming against the bruised night sky like a mausoleum. The warm amber lights glowed softly through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the ground-floor receiving rooms, but the upper levels—where Julian's private quarters and study were located—lay in deep, shadowed darkness. I slipped through the rear service entrance, my soft-soled shoes making no sound against the polished marble floor of the butler's pantry.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird as I navigated the familiar hallways. Every shadow looked like a waiting guard; every creak of the old floorboards sounded like a gunshot. I reached the heavy mahogany double doors of Julian's private study, pulling the stolen master keycard from my pocket. My fingers were trembling so badly I dropped the card twice before managing to slide it into the brass slot. With a faint, mechanical click, the heavy bolt disengaged. I slipped inside, closing the door softly behind me just as the distant chime of the grand grandfather clock downstairs began to strike midnight.
