Chapter 3 - The Broken Ledger
From beneath the desk, Emma could see the bottom hem of Isabella’s midnight-blue silk gown swirling across the Persian rug. The scent of her expensive, sharp perfume flooded the small space under the desk, making Emma’s throat constrict in terror.
"Thomas, he’s not in here," Isabella said, her voice dropping its theatrical warmth entirely. She was speaking into a sleek, encrypted satellite phone. "The old man must still be in the solarium, staring at the walls. The dosage is perfect; he won't be able to articulate a coherent sentence to the board members tomorrow."
She paused, listening to the voice on the other end of the line. Emma kept her eyes locked on Isabella’s silver heels, which were standing less than twelve inches from her face.
"Of course the boy is secure," Isabella hissed, her tone turning venomous. "The concrete vault is completely soundproof. Even if he screams his lungs out, the sound doesn't travel past the plaster tracks. Once William signs the power of attorney transfer at ten o'clock tomorrow morning, we can proceed with the final phase. The Swiss accounts are already primed to receive the trust's liquid assets."
Another pause. Isabella tapped her silver heel against the rug, a sharp, impatient sound.
"The maid? The new one, Emma?" Isabella murmured, and Emma’s blood ran completely cold. "She’s a quiet little thing. Doesn't look anyone in the eye. But I want the security team to keep tabs on her. She was cleaning near the west wing hallway earlier. If she notices even a scratch on that portrait frame, ensure she doesn't make it to her morning shift. We can't have any loose ends this close to the finish line."
Isabella turned on her heel, her silk gown rustling as she walked back out of the study, clicking the lights off behind her. The heavy mahogany door shut with a solid, definitive click.
Emma lay under the desk in the pitch blackness for a long moment, her entire body trembling. She wasn't just a witness anymore; she was a target. Isabella already suspected that her presence near the west wing might be a risk. If she tried to walk out the front gates of the estate now, she would likely be intercepted by the private security detail before she even reached the main road.
She crawled out from beneath the desk, her jaw set with a sudden, desperate courage. She had to act tonight. The power of attorney transfer was happening at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. Once that happened, William would be useless to Isabella, and Ethan... Ethan would be eliminated.
She pulled her phone out. The battery was down to eleven percent. She needed to copy the financial ledgers and the medical journal, but she couldn't risk sending them via the house Wi-Fi, which was undoubtedly monitored.
She slipped the prescription bottle and William’s journal into her uniform pocket. Then, she used her phone to take rapid, high-contrast photos of the financial transfer documents she had found in the false back panel—documents showing millions of dollars being funneled from the Sterling Charity Trust into a corporate shell entity called 'Aegis Logistics' based in Zurich.
Just as she finished taking the last photo, the phone's screen flickered violently and died. The battery was entirely depleted.
"No, no, no," Emma whispered, tapping the glass frantically. The black screen remained unresponsive. She was completely blind, cut off from any outside contact, trapped inside a fortress with a child killer and an army of paid guards.
She had to find William Sterling. She had to find him before the drugs completely destroyed his ability to recognize the truth. According to Isabella's phone call, he was currently in the solarium—a massive glass conservatory located at the far end of the estate's south wing.
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Slipping her lock picks back into her pouch, Emma crept to the study door. She cracked it open, checking the hallway. It was empty. The distant sound of the orchestra was finally winding down, indicating the gala was drawing to a close. The guests would be leaving soon, and Isabella’s full attention would turn back to the house.
Emma slipped through the corridors like a shadow, her yellow cleaning gloves tight against her hands, her mind focusing on a single, desperate plan. She had to wake the king before the executioner took his crown.
