Chapter 4: The Gate Interception
The gravel crunched beneath Julian's shoes as he stepped closer, closing the distance between us under the amber glow of the security light. His dark eyes caught the reflection of the overhead bulb, steady and unrelenting.
"If only domestic staff have access," I said, keeping my voice even, "then you're looking at the wrong people. A professional doesn't leave handwritten notes on mirrors. They don't announce themselves."
"Exactly," Julian replied, leaning slightly against the front fender of my sedan. "Which means whoever is inside this house isn't just a disgruntled maid or a jealous guest. It's someone with clearance who knows how to move through these corridors without tripping the motion logs."
"And you think hiring the former housekeeper who just caught a stiletto mid-air is your best countermeasure?"
"I think you're the only person in this zip code who isn't blinded by their own reflection," Julian retorted, a dry, humorless edge to his tone. "Evelyn is a handful. She's arrogant, she's sheltered, and she's terrified. But she doesn't deserve whatever is coming for her."
"People like Evelyn usually bring their own storms," I said, opening my car door and tossing the duffel onto the passenger seat. The interior smelled of old upholstery and rain.
"Maybe. But this storm has our name on it." Julian reached out, his fingers lightly gripping the top of the open car door, halting me from sliding behind the wheel. "Name your price, Rachel. Whatever Apex Global is charging us for their useless patrols, I'll double it. Retainer basis. Off-the-books."
I looked down at his hand on the door frame, then up to his face. There was no arrogance in his posture now—only the stark, pragmatic urgency of a man who realized his defenses were hollow.
"Money isn't the issue, Mr. Vance," I said quietly. "My terms are simple. Total operational control. No interference from your board, no oversight from your corporate security team, and if I tell Evelyn to stay in a room, she stays in the room. No tantrums."
Julian let out a short, sharp breath that sounded almost like relief. "Done. When do you start?"
May you like
"I already started," I said, sliding into the driver's seat and pulling the door shut between us. "Meet me at the all-night diner off Route 9 in twenty minutes. Bring whatever digital logs or physical notes you managed to salvage from her suite."
Julian stepped back, nodding once. "Twenty minutes."
