Chapter 2 - The Sound in the Hallway
Ethan moved with instinctual speed, stepping silently past Claire and planting his body directly in the threshold of the bedroom door. His heart hammered against his ribs, not from fear, but from the razor-sharp adrenaline of a predator catching the scent of another in its territory.
In the dim light of the hallway, a shadow stretched across the patterned wallpaper.
Someone was standing less than ten feet away, frozen in the darkness.
“Who’s there?” Ethan called out, his voice cutting through the silence of the old mansion like a butcher’s knife.
Silence answered him. Only the steady, rhythmic drumming of the rain against the tall Victorian windows at the end of the hall.
Ethan didn’t wait. He lunged out of the doorway, turning sharply down the corridor. A figure in dark silk pajamas was darting hurriedly toward the grand staircase at the center of the estate.
“Grant!” Ethan shouted.
The fleeing figure stumbled slightly at the sound of his name, half-turning his head in a panicked glance. In the dim amber light, the pale, sweat-slicked face of Grant Ashford was unmistakable. He had discarded his slippers, running barefoot across the Persian runners, his eyes wide with white-hot panic.
Ethan closed the distance in three massive strides, grabbing the back of Grant’s silk pajama top and slamming him hard against the mahogany wainscoting with enough force to rattle the antique framed portraits on the wall.
“Gah! Let go of me!” Grant choked out, thrashing wildly like a trapped animal. “Are you out of your mind?! I’ll have you arrested! I’ll have you thrown off this property before sunrise!”
Ethan pinned Grant’s forearm behind his back with brutal efficiency, pressing his face directly against the carved wood paneling. “You were standing outside the east wing door, Grant. You heard everything, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Grant gasped, his voice cracking with a high-pitched tremor that betrayed his desperate lies. “I heard a noise! I came up to check on the security of the house! Let me go!”
“Don’t lie to me,” Ethan hissed into his ear, his voice dropping to a low, menacing register that made Grant shudder. “You heard us talking. You know Claire is alive. You know your mother’s entire fortune, her estate, her legacy—everything you’ve been living off of for twenty years—is built on a stolen corpse and a locked door.”
At the mention of Claire’s name, all the fight seemed to drain out of Grant instantly. His body went limp against the wall, his breathing turning ragged and shallow. He stopped struggling, his head hanging low between his shoulders.
“How... how did you find her?” Grant whispered, the arrogant billionaire heir completely vanished, replaced by a terrified, cornered criminal.
“She was behind the wall, Grant. Tapping,” Ethan said, his voice dripping with disgust. “And right now, I have two choices. I can drag you downstairs into your mother’s bedroom, wake her up, and let her explain to me why her niece has been living in a tomb for two decades. Or I can call the New York State Police and federal marshals right this second and let them handle your family’s little real estate scam.”
Grant’s head snapped up, his eyes wide and pleading in the dark hallway. “No! No police, Ethan—please! We can talk about this! We can make a deal!”
“A deal?” Ethan sneered, tightening his grip until Grant winced in pain. “What kind of deal can a kidnapper offer a man who owns half the infrastructure on the East Coast?”
“Money,” Grant blurted out desperately, frantic to salvage whatever he could. “Whatever you want! Half the estate trusts! Five million dollars—ten million! Just—just don’t call the police! If the authorities find out about this, my mother will go to prison for the rest of her life, and I’m ruined!”
Ethan stared at the pathetic man writhing beneath his hand, a profound sense of cold satisfaction settling deep in his chest. Richard Voss and his corrupt cronies in Virginia had taught Ethan one vital lesson weeks ago: men like the Ashfords believed their money made them gods above the law. They believed they could buy silence, bury truth, and rewrite human lives.
They had severely miscalculated.
“Keep your money, Grant,” Ethan said coldly, releasing him with a sudden shove that sent Grant stumbling forward onto his hands and knees on the carpet. “You’re going to need every penny of it to pay your defense attorneys.”
Ethan turned his back on Grant, ignoring the whimpering heir scrabbling pathetically at the floorboards, and walked back toward the east wing.
When he pushed the bedroom door open, Claire was standing by the window, her fingers tentatively touching the wooden boards that had blocked out the world for twenty years.
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“He knows,” Claire said quietly, without turning around.
“He knows,” Ethan confirmed, walking into the room and stopping beside her. “And so does Vivian. Because we are going downstairs right now to wake her up.”
