Chapter 13 - The Spider’s Web
While Alexander quietly orchestrated an elite tactical operation from his locked study using private satellite channels completely independent of the corrupt local county jurisdiction, Emily was given the most dangerous task of all:
Act completely normal.
At 11:30 AM, the heavy iron gates of Blackwood Manor groaned open. A sleek black Mercedes sedan rolled up the gravel driveway, crunching over the wet stones.
From the front passenger seat stepped Doctor Gregory Thorne—a portly, sixty-year-old man in an expensive tweed coat, carrying a leather physician's bag, his silver hair neatly slicked back. Beside him stepped Sheriff Miller, a thick-necked man with a gold badge pinned to his khaki uniform and a Glock strapped to his hip.
Mrs. Evelyn met them at the grand mahogany double doors, her face glowing with triumphant anticipation.
“Gregory, Miller,” Evelyn greeted them in hushed, urgent tones on the porch. “Everything is ready. I increased the dosage this morning. The brat will be completely incoherent. Alexander is in his study, completely broken down after reading Clara’s old letters. When Thorne declares the boy legally incompetent, Miller, you will sign off on the emergency state custody transfer immediately.”
“And what about the maid?” Sheriff Miller grunted, chewing on a toothpick. “You said she was sticking her nose where it doesn't belong.”
“She’s a penniless orphan with no family,” Evelyn said with a cold, dismissing flick of her wrist. “Once the boy is in the ambulance, Miller, you take the maid into custody for 'theft' of estate jewelry. She’ll spend six months in county jail before anyone even reviews her file. By then, the trusts will be ours, and Clara will be dealt with permanently.”
“Good,” Doctor Thorne muttered, adjusting his gold spectacles. “Let’s get this over with. The bank auditors from Zurich are expecting the biometric confirmation by five o'clock today.”
They stepped into the grand foyer, their boots squeaking against the wet marble where Emily had knelt hours earlier.
Emily stood by the base of the staircase, holding a dusting cloth, her head respectfully bowed.
Evelyn cast a gloating, victorious smirk in Emily’s direction. “Emily! Go to Master Mason’s room and bring him down to the parlor. Doctor Thorne has arrived.”
“Right away, Mrs. Evelyn,” Emily said quietly, curtsying with perfect domestic deference.
Emily walked up the stairs, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She knew what was waiting in the shadows.
May you like
👉 But as she reached the landing, she noticed something that made her stomach drop: Evelyn’s hand was resting nervously inside her cardigan pocket—gripping the distinct outline of a compact handgun.
***
