Chapter 3 - The Ghost ReturnsThe rain hammered against the gothic iron gates of the Sterling estate. Inside the master study, Victoria poured herself a glass of twenty-year-old Scotch, her hands shaking slightly.
How did they get the footage? she thought. Only one other person besides her knew the security passcode to that specific feed—and he was dead. Or so she believed.
A sharp, rhythmic knock echoed through the hallway.
Victoria froze. She walked over to the antique French writing desk and slid open the hidden drawer. Inside rested a loaded pearl-handled revolver.
"Who's there?" she called out.
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The heavy oak doors slowly creaked open. Stepping out of the shadows wasn't a police officer, but a man in a trench coat, his face half-hidden beneath a fedora. When he stepped into the desk lamp's glow, Victoria dropped her glass, shattering the crystal.
"Hello, Victoria," a deep voice echoed. "Did you really think dead men stay buried?"
