Chapter 7: The Wine Cellar
Deep beneath the east wing of the mansion, the air in the wine cellar was cool, dry, and suffocatingly silent.
Madison Cole paced the length of the narrow, brick-lined room, her breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps. Her midnight-blue dress was smeared with dust, the silk torn at the hem. She looked like a deposed queen trapped in a dungeon.
"We have to get out of here," Madison muttered frantically, dragging her hands through her perfectly styled blonde hair, ruining the expensive updo. "He knows, Caleb. He knows everything. When the police get here..."
Caleb sat slumped on the cold stone floor, leaning against a rack of vintage Bordeaux. He was a pathetic sight—his tuxedo jacket discarded, his bowtie hanging loosely around his neck, and his face buried in his hands. He was shivering violently.
"The police aren't coming," Caleb whispered, his voice cracking. "Marcus jammed the signals. He’s going to kill Adrian. And then... then he’s going to come down here and kill us."
Madison stopped pacing and stared at him, her eyes wide with a manic, terrifying energy. "No. Marcus works for the Petrovs, and the Petrovs work with me. I am the one who set up the shell corporations. I am the one washing their money. I am too valuable to kill."
"You're a liability!" Caleb snapped, looking up with tear-streaked eyes. "Claire found out, and you had her killed! Now Adrian knows, and it's happening all over again! You ruined my life, Madison! I should never have let you talk me into skimming those accounts."
Madison’s face hardened. All the warmth, the charm, and the fake sweetness she had used to slither her way into Adrian’s life completely evaporated, leaving behind a cold, calculating predator.
She walked over to Caleb, her high heels clicking menacingly on the stone floor, and grabbed him roughly by the collar of his shirt.
"Listen to me, you spineless coward," she hissed, her face inches from his. "You liked the money just fine when you were blowing it on high-stakes poker in Macau. You liked the power of feeling smarter than your perfect older brother. I didn't hold a gun to your head. We are in this together. If I go down, you go down."
"I’ll tell him everything," Caleb sobbed, trying to push her away. "I’ll tell Adrian the truth. If I cooperate, maybe he won't let them kill me..."
Madison’s eyes darkened. She let go of him and took a slow step backward. Her gaze drifted to the heavy wooden table in the center of the room, where a corkscrew and a small foil-cutting knife rested on a silver tray.
"You're right, Caleb," Madison said, her voice suddenly eerily calm. "We are liabilities. But only one of us has the account passwords."
She casually reached out and wrapped her fingers around the handle of the foil cutter. It was small, but the curved blade was razor-sharp.
Before Caleb could register the shift in her demeanor, the heavy steel door of the wine cellar rattled. Someone was trying the lock from the outside.
Madison froze, sliding the small blade into the fold of her dress.
Suddenly, with a heavy, mechanical thud that reverberated through the floorboards, the lights in the wine cellar died.
The hum of the climate control system ground to a halt. The entire estate was plunged into total, absolute darkness.
Caleb let out a terrified whimper in the pitch black.
Up above, in the torrential rain, Adrian stood inside the utility bunker. He had just thrown the main breaker switch, plunging the twenty-thousand-square-foot mansion and its surrounding grounds into a blackout.
The security cameras were blind. The electronic locks were dead. The playing field was leveled.
May you like
Adrian stepped back out into the storm, letting the freezing rain wash over his face. He looked toward the front gates. The only light remaining on the property was the faint, battery-powered emergency bulb glowing in the window of the security pavilion.
Hang on, Emma, Adrian thought, breaking into a dead sprint across the flooded lawn. I’m coming.
