Chapter 8 - The Breaching of the Hall
"Down! Everyone down!" Marcus Ellery’s voice roared from the hallway, followed immediately by the harsh clatter of combat boots and the metallic racking of shotgun slides.
The study door swung violently open, slamming against the bookshelves. Marcus stood in the threshold, holding a Remington 12-gauge shotgun at his shoulder, flanked by two security guards with flashlights blindingly bright.
Marcus took in the scene in a single sweep: Vincent sitting upright behind the desk holding a revolver, a terrified Toby cowering on his knees, and Addy standing calmly beside her uncle’s chair as if she were waiting for breakfast.
"Mr. Castellano!" Marcus yelled, lowering the barrel slightly as he recognized the targets. "We heard a noise at the west gate—the chain was cut!"
"It was cut, Marcus," Vincent said, his voice cold and steady as he slid the revolver back into the drawer and locked it with a sharp turn of a brass key. "And we just caught our rat."
Marcus grabbed Toby by the collar of his shirt, hauling the weeping boy to his feet with a single jerk that nearly lifted him off the floor. "You little bastard. You’re the one who let Moreau’s men in?"
"Let him breathe, Marcus," Vincent commanded, pushing himself up from the wingback chair. The stitches along his ribs protested with a sharp, burning tweak, but he ignored it, standing tall on the Persian rug. "Toby didn't cut the gate chain tonight. Someone else did. Someone who wanted us to look at the stable hand while the real wolf slipped through the back pasture."
Marcus frowned, his thick brows drawing together. "What are you talking about? Who else would be out in the swamp at two in the morning?"
Vincent looked down at Addy, who was staring fixedly at the open side door, watching the shadows shift across the veranda.
"The man in the dark jacket," Addy said quietly, pointing a small finger toward the darkness outside. "He forgot his alligator."
Vincent paused, his breath catching in his throat. "What did you say, Addy?"
"Not my alligator," she corrected, tilting her head. "The man who ran away. He dropped something else by the steps when he ran past the magnolias on Tuesday. I found it in the grass yesterday when mama was shaking the rugs."
She walked over to the corner of the study, picked up a small, heavy object from the top of an end table, and carried it back to Vincent.
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It wasn't a toy. It was a solid silver cufflink, engraved with the intertwined initials J.M.—and cradled inside the crest of the Moreau family shipping empire.
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