Chapter 6
The black Maybach tore through the autumn rain, heading north along the winding coastal highway toward the Rookfield ancestral estate in Tuxedo Park.
Inside the rear cabin, Sylvie was curled against Tavish’s side, wrapped in his heavy cashmere overcoat. The little girl had fallen into an uneasy sleep, her tiny fingers still tucked into the pocket where the tarnished brass key lay safely nestled against his signet ring. Nathan sat in the front passenger seat, monitoring three glowing radio channels while the driver maintained a relentless eighty miles per hour through the downpour.
"The docks are in flames, boss," Nathan said, glancing back over his shoulder. "Emergency services in Jersey City are overwhelmed. The Vance family’s credit lines were frozen by the clearing house ten minutes ago. They are officially bankrupt."
"What about Blackwood Sanatorium?" Tavish asked, staring out the rain-streaked window at the dark treeline flashing past.
"Our northern crew is forty minutes out from the facility," Nathan replied. "I spoke to Roman. He’s running a six-man tactical unit. They’re breaching the compound as soon as they hit the gate. If Clara is breathing, they’ll have her in the air by sunrise."
"Tell Roman that if anyone in a doctor’s coat resists," Tavish murmured, his voice deadly calm, "he doesn't negotiate. He clears the room."
"Understood."
Sylvie stirred, letting out a small, whimpery sigh before blinking her eyes open. She looked up at the leather ceiling, then clutched Tavish’s lapel.
"Daddy? Are we at Grandma’s house yet?"
"Almost, sweetheart," Tavish said, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. "Are you scared?"
"Mommy told me Grandma’s room has a picture of an angel on the door," Sylvie whispered, rubbing her eyes. "She said the angel watches over the secrets. But Aunt Benedetta tried to take the angel down."
Tavish’s jaw tightened. "Aunt Benedetta won't ever touch that door again, Sylvie. I promise you."
"Promise forever?"
"Forever."
The Maybach slowed, turning sharply between two towering wrought-iron gates set into high limestone walls. The estate of Tavish’s childhood rose before them through the mist—a massive Gothic revival manor of dark granite and leaded glass, its high slate gables silhouetted against the storm clouds.
The vehicle came to a halt on the wet gravel drive before the grand stone portico. Behind them, two black Suburbans pulled up, their doors flying open to reveal six armed security operatives in rain gear.
Marcus stepped out of the lead SUV, walked to the rear trunk, and popped the latch. He hauled Julian and Benedetta out into the freezing downpour. Both of them were soaked, shivering violently, their formal clothes plastered to their skin as they were shoved toward the front steps.
"Move," Marcus barked, prodding Julian in the spine with the barrel of his sidearm.
Tavish stepped out of the Maybach, shielding Sylvie beneath his coat as they climbed the stone steps. The heavy oak front doors swung open; the elderly house manager, Thomas, stood in the foyer, his face pale as a sheet.
"Mr. Tavish," Thomas stammered, bowing his head. "We didn't expect you tonight. The house was closed for the season—"
"Take Sylvie to the kitchen, Thomas," Tavish interrupted smoothly. "Get her warm milk and dry clothes. Stay with her until I call for you."
"Right away, sir." Thomas reached out gently, taking the child into his arms.
Sylvie looked back over the old man’s shoulder, her eyes wide. "Daddy, don't let the bad people take Mommy’s key."
Tavish reached into his pocket, letting the brass key glint in the chandelier light. "I have it right here, baby. Go with Thomas."
May you like
As the child disappeared down the service hall, Tavish turned to the dripping prisoners standing on the marble floor.
"Now," Tavish said, his voice dropping into pure ice. "Let us go see what my mother left behind."
