Chapter 4 - CAUGHT IN THE BEAM
Darkness rushed into the study as the door pushed inward.
Lydia didn't have time to think. Driven by pure survival instinct, she dropped to her knees, snatched the loose sheet of paper off the floor, and dove behind the heavy velvet drapes that framed the tall French doors leading to the courtyard balcony.
She pressed her back hard against the cold glass pane, holding her breath, her hand clamped tightly over her mouth to muffle the sound of her own frantic breathing.
A beam of a heavy-duty flashlight cut through the darkness of the study.
"I could have sworn I heard something," a gravelly voice muttered.
Dale Hutchins.
Lydia’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She could hear the heavy thud of Dale’s boots stepping onto the Persian rug. The light swept across the mahogany desk, illuminating the half-open drawer.
Dale stopped.
A low whistle escaped his lips. "Well, well, well. Someone's been doing a bit of late-night reading."
Lydia gripped the edge of the velvet curtain, her fingers digging into the thick fabric. If Dale pulled back the drapes, she would be trapped against the glass with nowhere to run. She thought of her mother, waiting on the South Side with her oxygen tank and her stage 3 cancer; she thought of the $41,000 debt; she thought of Roland sitting blindly in the dark upstairs.
Dale’s boots stepped closer. The light beam grazed the bottom of the curtain.
Suddenly, a sharp, piercing sound cut through the silence of the mansion—a loud crash from the upper floor, followed by the sound of breaking glass and an angry shout.
Dale froze. He pulled his flashlight away from the curtains, spinning toward the door.
"Damn it," Dale muttered under his breath, cursing loudly. He turned on his heel and bolted out of the study, slamming the door shut behind him.
Lydia sank to the floor behind the drapes, her legs trembling so violently she couldn't stand. She waited a full five minutes in the absolute silence of the room before daring to crawl out from her hiding place.
She slipped the manila folder back into the drawer, locked it, returned the key to its hook behind the painting, and fled the study.
She didn't return to her room. Instead, driven by an overwhelming surge of dread, she bypassed the service stairs and headed straight for the forbidden east wing on the upper floor.
When she reached Roland’s door, it was wide open.
Inside, the room was in a state of chaos. A floor lamp lay shattered on the Persian rug, its bulb broken into a thousand sparkling shards. Roland was standing by the window, his chest heaving, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were stark white. Blood was dripping slowly from a fresh cut on his right hand where he had struck the glass.
Bishop stood a few feet away, his face expressionless, while two armed guards hovered near the door.
"Get out," Roland roared, his voice shaking the very walls of the room. "All of you! Get out of my sight!"
Bishop didn't flinch. He spoke in a cold, measured tone. "Mr. Sterling, you had another episode. Mrs. Sterling is concerned about your safety. The doctor's orders are clear—"
"I don't give a damn about the doctor's orders!" Roland interrupted, turning toward the sound of Bishop's voice with an expression of pure, unadulterated venom. "If any of you step one foot closer to me, I will have your blood on this floor before dawn. Get out!"
Bishop hesitated, his eyes narrowing. He gave a sharp nod to the guards, and the two men backed out of the room. Bishop followed them, but as he reached the doorway, his eyes caught Lydia standing frozen in the hall.
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Bishop stared at her for a long, agonizing moment. No words were spoken, but the message in his eyes was crystal clear: You are playing a dangerous game.
He stepped out and pulled the heavy door shut, leaving Lydia alone in the hallway with the blind king of the Sterling empire.
