Chapter 6 - The ghost in the walls
Vincent returned to the estate just as the sun was beginning to rise, painting the winter sky in bright, cinematic hues of violet and gold. The sprawling mansion was dead quiet.
He bypassed his mother's room and went directly to the east wing library. He locked the heavy double doors behind him and spread the blueprint across the massive oak desk. His father had built this house. Vincent had lived in it for two decades, believing he knew every inch of its grand, opulent halls. But the red ink on the paper revealed a hidden access point behind the wine cellar racks.
Vincent descended the stone spiral staircase into the wine cellar. The air grew colder with every step. He navigated through the dusty rows of vintage bottles until he reached the far wall, exactly where the red ink had marked the anomaly.
He pressed his hand against the cold stone, searching for a seam. He found a slight depression behind a wooden rack. He pushed. With a heavy, grinding sound, a section of the stone wall swung inward, revealing a dark, narrow corridor illuminated by faint, modern LED strip lights.
Vincent drew his custom firearm from his shoulder holster, his face an emotionless mask, and stepped into the passage.
The corridor led down a steep flight of concrete stairs, opening into a massive, fully furnished underground living space. It was impeccably clean. There was a modern kitchen, a heavy mahogany desk, and a large bed with high-end silk sheets. It did not look like a prison. It looked like a command center.
On the desk sat a bank of state-of-the-art encrypted communication equipment. Next to it was the receiver for the audio transmitter Vincent had found in his mother’s room.
Someone had been living under his house. Watching his family. Listening to his conversations. But the room was empty now. The coffee in the mug on the desk was still warm.
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Vincent approached the desk and saw a silver tray sitting neatly in the center of the leather blotter. On the tray was a single, pristine piece of crystal, completely whole, contrasting the shattered glass he had left in the dining room upstairs. Beside the crystal was a note.
'Celeste played her part perfectly. Now it is your turn.'
