Chapter 4 - the whisper in the wall
By three in the morning, a heavy coastal fog had rolled over the cliffs, wrapping the Vale Estate in a thick, gray shroud.
Inside the quiet master suite, Clare slept peacefully on the large king-sized bed, while Ellie curled beside her.
Dominic sat at the heavy walnut desk near the balcony doors, reviewing financial ledgers on a glowing laptop. Across from him stood Vincent, speaking in low, urgent tones.
"We ran the background on Clare's late ex-husband, Boss," Vincent reported softly. "Marcus Vance was murdered in a Chicago alley eighteen months ago. But before he died, he transferred a blind trust account into Ellie Rowan's name. An account holding forty million dollars in bearer bonds."
Dominic looked up from his screen, his dark eyes flashing. "Forty million? A low-level captain doesn't possess forty million dollars."
"No," Vincent agreed grimly. "That money was stolen directly from the Vance family's central vault in Chicago. That's why Arthur Voss is here, Dominic. He isn't just trying to cripple you to take over the Vale Syndicate... he’s looking for the child who holds the key to that trust."
Suddenly, a tiny voice spoke from the shadows near the fireplace.
"It hums," Ellie said softly.
Dominic turned instantly. Little Ellie was standing near the carved stone mantle of the fireplace, wearing her pink pajamas. She was holding a small wooden block toy, pointing her finger toward a decorative brass lion's head mounted on the stone wall.
Dominic stood up, walking silently over to the child. "What hums, little one?"
"The lion's nose," Ellie whispered, pointing. "It makes a buzzing sound like a mosquito when the room is quiet."
Vincent stepped forward with an electronic bug detector. As he brought the device near the brass lion's head, the scanner beeped violently, displaying a high-frequency red signal.
"A military-grade audio relay," Vincent growled, his face twisting in rage. "It’s broadcasting everything said in this room straight to an outside receiver."
Dominic didn't hesitate. He reached out with his massive, tattooed hand, gripped the decorative brass lion, and ripped it clean off the stone wall with a brutal snap of iron screws. Behind the fitting sat a miniature high-gain microphone.
May you like
Dominic brought the micro-transmitter to his lips.
"I know you're listening, Arthur," Dominic said into the device, his deep voice carrying a terrifying promise of death. "Enjoy the fog. It's the last thing you're ever going to see."
