Chapter 3
The key wasn't mine.
That mattered.
The Halbrook estate had hundreds of locks.
Wine rooms.
Weapons rooms.
Old storage rooms.
Private offices.
Underground doors built before I was born.
But I knew every key carried by my security men.
This wasn't one of them.
Small.
Brass.
Old-fashioned.
A thin black ribbon tied through the top.
I placed it on the table in front of Ione.
“Explain.”
She looked at it.
Nothing else.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
I sat across from her.
“Where did Nash get this?”
“I have no idea.”
“Wrong.”
She looked at me.
“You already decided I'm guilty.”
“No.”
I leaned back.
“I decided you drugged my wine when my three-year-old warned me not to drink it.”
“I didn't touch your glass.”
Maybe true.
That interested me.
“Who did?”
She said nothing.
Merritt moved slightly.
I looked at him.
He stopped.
I smiled.
“Merritt.”
His jaw tightened.
“You spent thirty years at family tables.”
“So?”
“You still don't know how to lie at one.”
I picked up the key.
“Where does this go?”
“No idea.”
Behind me, one of the older capos cleared his throat.
I turned.
Graham Voss.
Sixty-two.
Loyal to my father before he was loyal to me.
“What?”
He stared at the key.
“I've seen that ribbon.”
Ione's face hardened.
Graham continued.
“Old staff used black markers for the lower service rooms.”
“Which lower rooms?”
“Before the estate renovation.”
He pointed toward the east side of the house.
“Boiler corridors. Cold storage. Old delivery access.”
I knew those tunnels.
Mostly sealed.
Mostly.
I looked at Merritt.
His eyes moved toward Ione.
There it was again.
I stood.
“Elias.”
He stepped inside.
“Take four men downstairs.”
Ione finally reacted.
“No.”
Every head turned toward her.
I smiled.
“Why?”
She recovered quickly.
“Because you're terrifying your son, locking family members inside and sending armed men through the basement over a child's story.”
“You dumped food over that child's head.”
“He needed discipline.”
“No.”
I walked toward her.
“He needed silence.”
Her expression changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
I crouched beside her chair.
“What did Nash see?”
“Nothing.”
“What did he hear?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why punish him?”
“He was rude.”
“How?”
No answer.
“What did my three-year-old son do that justified eating on the floor?”
She stared at me.
I waited.
Silence is useful.
Most people fear it.
Eventually they put words inside it.
Ione did.
“He wouldn't stop repeating things.”
I didn't move.
“What things?”
Her face changed.
She knew.
Too late.
I stood.
“What was he repeating?”
“Children repeat nonsense.”
“What nonsense?”
Merritt interrupted.
“Enough.”
I turned.
He stood.
Slowly this time.
“You humiliated my wife.”
“She humiliated my son.”
“You hit her.”
“She reached for my son.”
“This family used to have rules.”
I almost laughed.
“It still does.”
I stepped closer.
“Don't drug the boss at dinner.”
He stopped.
Then Elias's voice came through the radio again.
“Cassian.”
Not Boss.
Cassian.
That meant something was wrong.
I answered.
“Talk.”
“We found the door.”
“What door?”
“The brass key fits an old service entrance beneath the east pantry.”
I looked at Ione.
Her face had gone pale.
“Open it.”
A pause.
“Already did.”
“And?”
Elias's voice dropped.
“There are six coats hanging inside.”
I frowned.
“Coats?”
“Men's coats.”
Another pause.
“All dry.”
I looked toward the windows.
Snow had been falling for two hours.
Anyone who arrived normally would have snow on them.
Elias continued.
“They didn't come through the house.”
I understood.
“They came from outside.”
“Yes.”
“How many men are down there?”
“We found six coats.”
“That's not what I asked.”
Silence.
Then:
“We haven't found the men.”
I looked around my Christmas table.
Twenty-two adults.
Eight capos.
Six senior relatives.
More staff outside.
Somewhere beneath us was an unlocked service route.
And six strangers had entered my home without using a gate.
I looked at Ione.
“What were you planning?”
She whispered:
“Cassian…”
First time she'd used my name like that all night.
Not angry.
May you like
Afraid.
Then every light in the dining hall went out.
