Chapter 4 - Shadow over the Guest Wing
By eleven o'clock, the formal dinner had concluded.
Under Ethan’s quiet instruction, the guests were subtly guided toward the estate’s private guest wing to stay the night, citing a sudden, heavy ice storm that had made the steep Connecticut driveways treacherous. In reality, Ethan’s men had secretly spiked the main security gate with a remote lock, trapping everyone inside the perimeter.
In the west wing of the mansion, Denise sat on the edge of a plush king-sized bed inside a secure suite. Mabel lay beside her under a heavy feather duvet, her tiny eyes finally fluttering shut, holding Button her stuffed bunny in her arms.
Standing near the door was Marcus, Ethan’s second-in-command security officer, holding a concealed sidearm beneath his jacket.
“Is she sleeping?” Denise whispered softly to the officer.
“She’s out cold, ma'am,” Marcus replied respectfully. “Don't worry. This room is reinforced with heavy deadbolts and bulletproof glass. You’re entirely safe.”
Denise looked down at her sleeping daughter, her heart aching with a mixture of profound gratitude and overwhelming anxiety. Just six hours ago, she was worrying about her late rent and her car’s broken transmission. Now, she was at the center of a high-stakes billionaire assassination plot.
Suddenly, the room's lights flickered once, twice... and died.
The entire west wing plunged into pitch darkness. The heavy hum of the central heating system sputtered and fell silent.
Denise gasped, pulling Mabel closer. “What happened to the lights?!”
Marcus instantly pulled his tactical flashlight from his belt, illuminating the doorway while drawing his weapon. “The main power grid for the west wing was manually cut from the basement breaker box. Stay down, Mrs. Carter!”
Outside in the hallway, the silent darkness was shattered by the sharp THUD of heavy boots.
A hooded figure moved swiftly down the corridor, holding a silenced handgun in his right hand and a heavy glass canister in the other. It was Victor’s personal enforcement operative—a mercenary named Keller whom Victor had sneaked onto the estate staff earlier that morning.
Keller reached the door of Denise’s suite. He pulled a heavy electronic bypass key from his vest, slapping it against the digital keycard scanner.
BEEP-BEEP. CLICK.
The heavy brass lock clicked open.
Keller kicked the heavy door open, raising his gun into the dark room. “Don't move!”
BANG!
A sharp flash of light illuminated the room as Marcus fired first from behind the heavy armchair. The bullet struck Keller’s tactical vest, sending the mercenary stumbling back into the hallway with a breathless grunt.
“Denise, get in the bathroom! NOW!” Marcus roared, firing two more suppression shots into the doorway.
Denise grabbed Mabel in her arms, ducking low as plaster and dust rained down from the doorframe. She sprinted into the adjoining marble bathroom, slamming the thick oak door shut and sliding the heavy brass deadbolt into place.
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Mabel woke up crying, her small hands clutching her mother’s shirt. “Mama! Mama, it's loud!”
“Shh! Shh, baby! Mama's here!” Denise wept, holding her daughter against the cold tile wall, shielding Mabel’s body with her own as gunfire echoed violently outside in the corridor.
