Chapter 4 - The Game of Shadows
Victoria gasped, her breath catching in her throat as the sheer, unexpected force of the old woman pressed her hard against the wall. For a fraction of a second, genuine terror flickered across the younger woman's face, but her arrogance quickly reasserted itself.
"You crazy old bitch!" Victoria spat, trying to claw at Eleanor's hands. "Do you think a little wrestling move changes anything?! Marcus's men surround this entire estate! You're trapped!"
Eleanor didn't waste breath arguing. She brought her knees up sharply into Victoria's stomach. Victoria doubled over with a wheeze, dropping to her knees on the thick carpet. Eleanor instantly used the edge of her hand to strike the side of Victoria's neck, knocking the younger woman unconscious before she could scream for help.
Victoria collapsed onto the marble landing, her dusty-rose dress pooling around her like spilling wine.
Eleanor stood over her, breathing heavily. She quickly bent down, retrieved the silver revolver from the stairs, checked the cylinder—six round loaded—and tucked it securely inside the apron of her gray uniform. Then, taking Victoria by the armpits, she dragged the unconscious woman into the nearby linen closet, locking the heavy brass door from the outside and sliding the key into her pocket.
She had gained time, but not much.
The estate was a fortress spanning forty acres, surrounded by a twelve-foot stone wall and topped with state-of-the-art thermal security cameras. Marcus Vance had designed the security grid himself three years ago. Eleanor knew every flaw in that system because she had personally reviewed the architectural blueprints before approving the twenty-million-dollar construction budget.
She needed to get to the main communications hub in the basement. If she could override the estate's local cellular jammer—which Victoria had clearly activated to stop Chloe from calling for help—she could place a direct call to the State Police commissioner, who happened to be an old family friend.
Eleanor hurried down the rear service stairs, her rubber-soled maid shoes making virtually no sound against the tile.
As she reached the ground floor kitchen, she heard heavy boots crunching against the gravel driveway outside. Through the leded glass window, she spotted two security guards in tactical black uniforms, carrying high-powered radios and flashlights. They were Marcus's private mercenaries.
"Check the north gardens!" one of the guards shouted into his radio. "Vance wants the girl found before sunset!"
Eleanor ducked beneath the kitchen island. She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out her personal smartphone—the encrypted satellite phone she had kept hidden inside her wig since arriving at the mansion three days ago.
She powered it on. The screen flickered, displaying zero bars of signal. The jammer was operating at maximum frequency.
She needed physical access to the control room located beneath the wine cellar.
Stealthily, Eleanor moved across the commercial kitchen, grabbing a long iron meat cleaver from the magnetic strip on the wall. She slipped through the pantry door, descending the narrow stone stairs that led into the dark, damp depths of the mansion's subterranean foundation.
The air grew cold, smelling of ancient soil and oak barrels.
"Chloe?" Eleanor called out in a low, gentle voice as she navigated the rows of dusty wine bottles.
A small shadow separates itself from behind a massive fifty-year-old oak cask. Chloe stepped out, trembling violently, still clutching the leather briefcase against her ribs like a shield.
"Mrs. Eleanor!" Chloe gasped, tears running down her dusty cheeks. "I heard a noise upstairs... I thought it was them!"
"It's okay," Eleanor reassured her, stepping close and putting a firm, warm hand on the girl's shoulder. "Victoria is secured for now, but Marcus's men are sweeping the grounds. We need to shut down the cellular jammer in the control room so we can call for backup."
Chloe stared at her, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of the frail old housekeeper holding an iron meat cleaver and speaking with the calm, decisive command of a military general.
"Who... who are you really?" Chloe whined.
Eleanor reached up to her head, unclipping the coarse gray wig and pulling it off, allowing her immaculate, silver-streaked hair to tumble down over her shoulders. She wiped a damp napkin across her face, removing the gray greasepaint and theatrical wrinkles to reveal her sharp, striking features.
"I am Eleanor Sterling," she said plainly. "And this is my home."
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Chloe's jaw dropped in absolute disbelief. "You... you're Mr. Julian's mother? The billionaire?"
"I am," Eleanor said, checking the action on the silver revolver. "And nobody destroys my family while I'm still breathing. Stay behind me, Chloe. We're going to take back this house."
