Chapter 1 - The Threshold of AshThe heavy oak doors of the Mercer Westchester estate felt heavier than they had three years ago, when I left them under my father's strict instructions to never look back unless summoned. Roman’s hand rested lightly at the small of my back
"The security logs from the north wing were wiped the week after your father’s stroke," Roman murmured, his voice low and tactical as his eyes swept the sweeping double staircase. "Which means Grant didn't just stumble into altering the will. He had corporate IT cover his tracks before the body was even cold."
"He was always methodical," I replied, my voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking in my chest. "Grant treats people like ledger entries. If a human asset becomes a liability, he redacts them."
"Then today, we audit him," Roman said.
We moved straight through the formal sitting room toward my father’s private study—the inner sanctum where Arthur Mercer had ruled an empire of shadow shipping and political extortion. The door was locked, a thick brass deadbolt that Grant had installed after our father’s death. But Roman didn't bother knocking or calling for a house manager. He pulled a heavy titanium-alloy keycard from his pocket, handed it to me, and gestured for the lock.
"Your father taught you how to pick a standard tumbler when you were twelve, didn't he?" Roman asked, watching me with a gaze that burned through my defenses. "Show me."
My fingers trembled slightly as I slid the tension wrench into the keyway, the metallic scrape echoing off the mahogany wainscoting. Muscle memory took over. Years of hiding in this house, sneaking past locked doors just to find a safe place to breathe, guided my hands. With a sharp click, the deadbolt slid back. The heavy door swung open, releasing the scent of old leather, stagnant air, and unwashed fear.
Inside, the room was exactly as my father had left it—except for the massive executive safe embedded in the brickwork behind the mahogany desk. It was a biometric vault, rigged to require both Arthur Mercer’s thumbprint and a six-digit alphanumeric code.
May you like
"Grant thinks he's untouchable because he locked the physical evidence away," I whispered, stepping over the threshold. "He doesn't know that my father kept an analog override for emergencies."
"Find it," Roman said, stepping in behind me and locking the heavy study door from the inside.
