Chapter 4 - Returning to the Scene
The front gates of the estate swung open automatically as Marcus's sedan glided up the long, moonlit drive. The house sat dark and silent against the night sky, save for a single exterior security light illuminating the grand double doors. When we stepped inside, the luxury dining room looked surreal in the predawn gray filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The cleaning crew hadn't arrived yet, leaving the round glass dining table exactly as it had been left: a devastating spiderweb of shattered crystal fragments catching the faint morning light.
Marcus walked straight to the liquor cabinet, pouring two fingers of amber scotch into a crystal tumbler without offering one to me. He looked tired, the sharp lines of his face softened by exhaustion, but his eyes remained hard and calculating.
"The police are pulling the neighborhood traffic logs," Marcus said, his voice flat. "They found a rideshare drop-off down the road. They know she didn't drive herself to the house."
I ignored the drink and walked slowly toward the ruined table. Kneeling carefully on the edge of the intact rug, I inspected the base of the table where the heavy glass top had shattered. Amidst the glittering splinters of crystal and the dark stains that remained on the carpet, something small and metallic caught my eye. Reaching out with two fingers, I brushed aside a shard of glass and lifted a small, silver flash drive stamped with an institutional logo—the exact logo of the charitable foundation Marcus and I managed together.
I clutched the cold metal in my palm, keeping my hand balled into a tight fist as I stood back up. Marcus hadn't noticed the movement; he was staring intently out the window toward the perimeter wall.
"What are you looking at?" I asked quietly.
"We need to control the narrative before the board meets tomorrow morning," Marcus replied, turning around. "If the foundation directors find out about the missing endowment funds that she was investigating, the police won't just look at this as a tragic accident. They'll look at it as a motive."
My heart hammered against my ribs. The flash drive in my pocket felt heavy, burning against my leg. "She told me she had copies of the audit," I said, watching his reaction closely. "She said the data was backed up off-site."
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Before Marcus could answer, my phone buzzed sharply against the wooden console table in the foyer. I walked over, lifting the device with trembling fingers. The screen flashed a single text message from an unknown number: *The dome camera has a secondary cloud backup. Meet me at the 24-hour diner on Route 9 in twenty minutes if you want to see what Marcus deleted.*
I stared at the glowing screen, the words searing themselves into my mind. I looked back at Marcus, who was watching me with a look of intense suspicion from across the ruined dining room.
