“A woman behind the pantry wall.”

The march from the grand dining hall to the rear servant quarters of the mansion felt like a descent into the underworld. The opulent gilded moldings and warm crystal chandeliers gave way to stark, utilitarian hallways lined with cold stone floors and heavy oak doors. Matthias Rook walked with relentless, predatory strides, carrying Jamie in his left arm while his right hand hung loosely at his side, the refined tattoos flexing with contained violence. Lorna Hayes kept pace right beside him, her black A-line skirt swishing softly, her eyes constantly scanning the shadows.

Trailing closely behind them were four massive enforcers in dark suits, physically dragging Clarice Voss along. The mistress struggled against their iron grips, her sculpted satin gown snagging on the corners of the stone walls, her ornate bracelet scraping loudly against the masonry.

“This is a mistake!” Clarice shrieked, her voice echoing shrilly down the service corridor. “You are going to tear apart your own house for nothing! There is no one behind the walls! Matthias, command them to let me go!”

Matthias did not turn around. He kept his cold, observant eyes focused straight ahead.

“Why do you fight so violently if there is nothing to hide, Clarice? Does an innocent woman scream with such profound terror?”

They finally reached the grand kitchen, a massive, industrial space of stainless steel, white tile, and walk-in refrigerators. At the very back of the kitchen lay the deep storage pantry, a long, windowless room filled with towering wooden shelves stocked with dry goods and imported wines.

Matthias set Jamie down gently on the tiled floor. He knelt beside the boy, adjusting the collar of Jamie’s dinner jacket.

“Can you show me exactly where you leave the food, Jamie? Will you lead me to the exact spot?”

Jamie sniffled, wiping his rosy skin with the back of his sleeve. He took Lorna’s hand for courage and walked slowly down the center aisle of the pantry. He bypassed the rows of canned goods and heavy sacks of flour, walking all the way to the back wall. The wall was paneled in old, dark oak, supposedly the structural boundary of the mansion's foundation.

Near the floor, partially hidden behind a stack of wooden wine crates, was a heavy brass ventilation grille. It was old and tarnished, easily overlooked by anyone who didn't know it was there.

Jamie pointed a trembling finger at the brass metal.

“It’s right here. I push the crumbs through the little holes. The air is always cold here.”

Matthias crouched down, pressing his large, tattooed hand against the brass grille. He felt a faint, unnatural draft of cold air slipping through the metal slats. He leaned his ear close to the wood.

“Can you hear me through this wall? Is there anyone breathing in the dark?” Matthias whispered to the wood, phrasing it as a question out of deeply ingrained habit.

A faint, muffled sound echoed from the other side. It wasn't a voice, but the unmistakable sound of something heavy dragging against a stone floor.

Matthias stood up slowly. His towering frame seemed to expand in the confined space of the pantry. He turned to Clarice, who was now being held firmly against a stainless steel prep table by his men. Her fair skin was ghastly white, her diamond earrings shaking as she trembled.

“Did you honestly believe a secret of this magnitude could remain buried in my own home? Did you think the walls of my fortress would keep my own wife from me forever?”

Clarice began to hyperventilate, her manicured hands clawing desperately at the men holding her. “She deserved it! She was weak, Matthias! She didn't understand the business! I did it for you! I did it so we could rule together!”