Chapter 4 - The locked doors
The next morning, the atmosphere in the mansion was tight with unspoken tension. Daniel remained in his private study, refusing to let Vanessa inside. He claimed he was working on sensitive syndicate logistics and couldn't be disturbed. In reality, he was reviewing the estate's security footage.
Vanessa paced the grand hallway outside the study, her pale-pink morning dress swishing against the marble. She was agitated. The vault key was missing, Daniel was locked away, and her window of opportunity was closing.
She spotted Grace walking down the hall carrying a tray of fresh coffee and pastries.
"Give me that," Vanessa snapped, reaching for the silver tray. "I will take it in to him."
"Mr. Whitfield specifically asked me to bring this, Miss Cole," Grace said gently, but she held her ground, her grip firm on the tray.
Vanessa’s eyes narrowed. "You forget your place. Step aside."
Before the confrontation could escalate, the heavy oak doors of the study clicked open. Daniel stood in the doorway. He looked deeply masculine and entirely in control, his dark-brown hair perfectly styled, the black dress shirt fitting snugly across his broad chest.
"Vanessa," Daniel said, his voice low and smooth. "I asked Grace to bring the coffee. We need to discuss the household accounts. You can leave us."
Vanessa's fair skin flushed with indignation. "Daniel, darling, you shouldn't be working. And you certainly shouldn't be spending time with the help when you have a fiancée waiting for you."
"The accounts won't wait," Daniel replied, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. "Close the door behind you, Grace."
Grace slipped past Vanessa, ignoring the venomous glare, and walked into the study. She set the tray down on the massive mahogany desk. The study was lined with dark wood and filled with the scent of old paper and expensive leather.
Daniel walked over to the desk and locked the door behind them. He didn't look at the coffee. He looked directly at Grace.
"Tell me exactly what Vanessa was doing in the west wing last Tuesday night," Daniel commanded quietly.
Grace froze. Her heart hammered in her chest. The west wing was strictly off-limits to the staff; it was where the underground vault entrance was located.
"I don't spy on Miss Cole, sir," Grace said carefully.
Daniel stepped closer, his intense presence overwhelming but strangely comforting. "I'm not asking you as your boss, Grace. I am asking you because my life, and potentially yours, depends on the truth. What did you see?"
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Grace looked into his dark eyes and realized he wasn't playing a game anymore. "I was bringing fresh towels to the guest suites. I saw Miss Cole standing near the basement door. She was on her phone. I didn't hear much, but I heard her say a date. 'Friday the 18th.' She said if the ledger wasn't delivered by then, they were all dead."
Friday the 18th. Tomorrow. Daniel's jaw tightened. The pieces of the puzzle violently snapped together.
