Chapter 7 - The Private Sitting Room
I didn't smile for the cameras. Instead, I let her glide past me toward the ballroom doors while I slipped through the side service corridor into the private sitting room adjacent to the library. The room smelled of old leather and damp stone from the exterior gardens. It was where the estate's previous owners had kept their ledgers—and where their secrets usually died.
My phone buzzed in my palm. Dante.
"Talk to me," I said, pressing the device to my ear.
"I'm looking at the secondary data stream we pulled from her burner profile," Dante's voice crackled through the speaker, accompanied by the rapid-fire clatter of a mechanical keyboard. "The silver box isn't just a physical lockbox, Thomas. It contains the hard copy of the proxy signatures from the shell company in Delaware. If she gets those filed with the county clerk before noon tomorrow, your signature on the prenuptial addendum becomes legally irrevocable."
"She won't get them filed," I said, pacing across the Persian rug. "Where is the box right now?"
"According to the access logs on the smart-lock for the third-floor dressing suite, someone keyed into it four minutes ago," Dante said, his tone sharpening. "And it wasn't Genevieve's cleaning staff. Her security detail just rerouted their patrol away from the west wing."
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. She wasn't just planning to marry into the estate; she was sanitizing the evidence while the gala distracted the guests. I shoved the phone back into my pocket, grabbed the heavy brass poker from beside the inactive fireplace, and checked the corridor outside. The hallway was empty, bathed in the cool twilight spilling through the arched windows.
As I rounded the corner toward the western staircase, two men in identical black suits stepped out from the shadow of the pillar, blocking my path. They didn't draw weapons, but their shoulders squared with heavy, practiced menace.
"Mr. Vance," the taller one said, his voice flat. "Mrs. Vance requested that you remain in the sitting room until the ceremony rehearsal concludes."
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"Move," I said, tightening my grip on the brass poker.
"I don't think you understand," the man replied, stepping forward. "The locks are already engaged."
