Chapter 2 - Uncharted Security Logs
I lowered the fork back onto the rim of the porcelain plate, the faint clink ringing out in the cavernous dining room. The steak had lost its appeal. I pushed the plate an inch to the side, leaning my forearms against the polished dark wood table to bring myself closer to her eye level. Her blonde hair fell in soft ringlets around her shoulders, and the pink bow trembled slightly as she breathed.
"Marcus," I said without turning my head, keeping my eyes locked on the child. "Get estate security on the comms right now. I want every exterior camera feed from the past hour pulled up on the main console in the study."
"Right away, sir," Marcus murmured, his shoes clicking sharply against the floor as he moved toward the hallway panel.
"What's your name?" I asked the girl, softening the edge in my voice by a fraction.
"Lily," she said promptly, resting her elbows on the heavy table just as I had. She looked down at the bread basket sitting between us, her eyes locking onto a warm dinner roll. "Is that bread for sharing?"
"It is," I answered, picking up a soft roll and breaking off a small piece before handing it across the polished wood. She took it with both hands, her small fingers clutching the warm bread as if it were a rare treasure.
Vance stepped forward, his face a mask of professional concern. "Sir, checking the exterior perimeter now. The biometric gates haven't registered any unauthorized entry codes. The perimeter sensors are green. There's no logical way a child of this age bypassed the gatehouse unassisted."
"Logic has a habit of failing when people stop paying attention," I replied quietly, watching Lily nibble on the bread. I stood up from my chair, the dark fabric of my three-piece suit shifting sharply. "Keep her here. Don't let anyone enter or leave this wing until I've seen the logs myself."
I strode out of the dining room through the double wooden doors, leaving the bright chandelier light behind for the shadowed corridor. My mind raced through every possible security vulnerability in the Manhattan estate. The property occupied half an acre of prime real estate, surrounded by twenty-foot brick walls and iron scrollwork. A stray cat could barely scale it, let alone a toddler in a party dress.
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In the study, Marcus was already tapping furiously at the backlit console. Multiple screens flickered to life, showing empty courtyards, rain-slicked paving stones, and the silent, imposing front gates. We watched the footage backward in fast motion. Gate zero-four. Gate zero-one. The service entrance. Nothing. Just empty asphalt and the occasional flicker of headlights from passing limousines on the avenue outside.
"Sir," Marcus said, his voice tightening. "There's nothing on the cameras. It's as if she materialized out of thin air."
