Chapter 4 - The Shadow in the East WingThe gunfire ceased as abruptly as it had begun, leaving only the acrid smell of cordite and ozone hanging heavy in the grand hallway.
Two of Daniel’s elite bodyguards, battered but operational, rushed through the side corridors, weapons drawn, pinning the remaining two intruders against the velvet furniture. Within seconds, both gunmen were disarmed, zip-tied, and forced to their knees.
Daniel stood over the surviving lead intruder, his chest heaving, his face dark with fury. He grabbed the man by the collar of his tactical vest and hauled him up effortlessly.
“Who sent you?” Daniel’s voice was a low, lethal hiss. “Moretti? Or is Viktor trying to settle a debt from last month?”
The masked man spat a glob of blood onto the pristine marble floor and let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “You think this is about turf, Brooks? You’re blind. You’ve got a traitor rotting right inside your own walls, and you’re too busy playing daddy to notice.”
Daniel’s grip tightened until the fabric tore. “Name names.”
Before the man could speak, a muffled, high-pitched shriek echoed from the upper landing of the east wing—the private family quarters.
Lucas let out a fresh sob and buried his face deeper into Natalie’s shoulder. “Evelyn...”
Daniel dropped the intruder like a piece of trash. “Secure them,” he barked at his guards, before sprinting toward the stairs three steps at a time.
Natalie followed close behind, holding Lucas securely in her arms. Despite the pain shooting through her bruised ribs, she refused to fall behind. Her instincts screamed that the attack in the foyer had been nothing more than a diversion.
They reached the upper landing, where the lighting was dimmer, cast by antique wall sconces. The heavy mahogany door to Lucas’s nursery stood wide open.
Inside, the room was completely ransacked. Toy chests were overturned, clothing was ripped from the wardrobes, and the large security monitor built into the study desk had been ripped out of the wall, its internal wires sparking and smoking.
Standing in the center of the devastation was Evelyn Hart.
Her black dress was uncreased, her posture rigid, but her usually immaculate gray bun was slightly disheveled. In her hand, she wasn't holding a phone or a weapon—she was holding a small, heavy black ledger bound in genuine leather.
Daniel stopped dead in his tracks at the doorway, his weapon still raised.
“Evelyn?” Daniel’s voice faltered, genuine shock breaking through his hardened exterior. “What are you doing in here?”
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Evelyn slowly turned around. The cold, efficient house manager expression was completely gone. In its place was a chilling, triumphant smile that didn’t reach her dead, analytical eyes.
“I told you, Mr. Brooks,” Evelyn said smoothly, tapping the leather ledger against her palm. “This house is rotting from the top down. And someone has to sweep out the trash.”
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