Chapter 3 - The Iron Latch
The carriage road narrowed until the pine boughs whipped against both side mirrors with sharp snaps. The SUV's suspension groaned as it cleared a washout, bouncing over exposed roots before the trees parted to reveal a second, smaller set of stone gateposts. Unlike the grand estate gates miles behind us, these were rusted iron, half-swallowed by ivy and mountain laurel.
I cut the engine fifty yards short, rolling to a stop behind a thick clump of birch trees. The air smelled of damp earth, pine sap, and woodsmoke drifting down from a stone chimney visible through the canopy.
Walking the final stretch on foot, I kept to the softer moss alongside the dirt track to muffle my footsteps. The main house of the upper lodge was a low-slung stone and timber structure built into the side of the hill, surrounded by rusted wrought-iron fencing. Through the lower-level windows, I caught the flash of a dark suit—security detail, rotated out from the city estate.
I crouched beside the stone foundation near a ground-level casement window. Inside, muffled voices carried through the thick glass.
"—flight logs are clear for the private strip at four," a woman's clipped voice said. It was my mother-in-law's voice, cold and measured. "Get her changed into the travel clothes. The court date isn't until Thursday, and I want her across the state line by sundown."
My chest tightened. I reached into my jacket, my fingers brushing the cold surface of the smartphone. No more waiting for legal briefs or mediators. I stepped away from the window, circling toward the rear service entrance where a single guard stood smoking a cigarette by a stack of firewood.
The guard turned just as I cleared the corner of the woodpile, his hand dropping instinctively toward his belt.
"Private grounds, sir," he started, squaring his shoulders in his dark suit.
I didn't stop walking. I closed the distance between us before he could clear his holster, my hand coming up to grip his lapel, slamming his back against the timber wall with enough force to rattle the chimney flue above us.
"Where is she?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, cold enough to freeze the breath between us.
May you like
The guard's eyes widened in surprise, recognizing the man from the dining room table, now stripped of polite corporate pretense. He swallowed hard, his hands going flat against the wood as he weighed his options.
###
