Chapter 5 - The Secret Door

We raced back to the Lake Forest mansion as dawn broke over the icy blue horizon of Lake Michigan.

The front gates of the estate were wide open. The two guards stationed at the security booth were slumped over their desks—unconscious, but alive, hit with stun darts.

“Stay in the car,” Dominic ordered, pulling a custom black pistol from his shoulder holster and racking the slide with a crisp clack.

“No!” I shouted, opening my door. “Noah is up there!”

Dominic caught my wrist, his grip like iron. “Clara, if you step into a firefight, I cannot guarantee your life.”

“I don’t care about my life!” I snapped back, glaring into the eyes of the deadliest man in Chicago. “I care about that little boy! He’s alone!”

Dominic stared at me for a split second, something dark and complex shifting in his eyes. He released my wrist and threw a heavy tactical vest into my lap. “Put it on. Stay behind me.”

We rushed through the front entrance. The grand foyer was deathly silent.

I didn't head for the main stairs. Instead, I ran toward Noah’s room through the service kitchen stairwell—a path Mrs. Hargrove wouldn't expect. Dominic followed my lead, his gun raised, moving with lethal silence.

When we burst into Noah’s room, the connecting door to my room was wide open.

Noah’s bed was empty. His blue velvet bear lay torn open on the rug, stuffing scattered everywhere.

“Noah!” I cried out, dropping to my knees beside the bed.

Dominic scanned the room, his jaw tightly clenched. “He’s not here.”

I grabbed the torn teddy bear. Inside the empty cotton stuffing, my fingers brushed against something hard and metallic. I pulled it out.

It was a small, brass skeleton key wrapped in a scrap of paper. On the paper, written in a child’s messy crayon scribbles, was a single drawn arrow pointing toward a hidden panel behind the mahogany wardrobe.

“He left a clue,” I gasped, showing Dominic the key. “Noah... he knows this house better than anyone!”

Dominic inspected the wardrobe. He jammed his fingers into the seam of the wood panel and pulled hard. With a loud groan of metal hinges, the wardrobe swung outward, revealing a dark, narrow stone staircase spiraling down into the foundation of the North Wing.

“The secret passage,” Dominic whispered, his face darkening. “It was sealed during prohibition.”

“It leads directly under the North Wing,” I said, holding the brass key tight.

We descended into the dark, damp staircase. The air grew freezing cold, smelling heavily of wet concrete and floral perfume. White lilies.

At the bottom of the stairs sat a heavy iron door with a small brass keyhole.

I inserted the key. It turned with a satisfying, heavy CLICK.

Dominic shoved the door open with his boot, his gun leveled at the dark room beyond.

What we saw inside wasn't a dungeon or a torture chamber.

It was a state-of-the-art surveillance command center. Dozens of high-definition screens flickered on the walls, showing live feeds of every single room in Dominic’s mansion—his office, his vault, his bedroom, and even the street outside.

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