Chapter 4 - The Lockdown
Within thirty minutes, the Ashworth estate was transformed into an impenetrable fortress.
Heavy iron security shutters rolled down over the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the main house. The iron gates at the end of the half-mile driveway were locked and reinforced with armored vehicles. Twelve additional men, armed with tactical rifles, swept the dense woods surrounding the property.
Inside the grand study, Julian sat behind his mahogany desk. A glass of aged bourbon sat untouched beside a row of encrypted monitors showing live feeds of the perimeter.
Marcus, his head of tactical security, stood across from him.
"Bennett talked," Marcus reported, his voice grim. "The FBI task force has been parked in an unmarked delivery truck three miles down the highway for six weeks. Bennett was feeding them financial records, meeting schedules, and logistics routes."
"Did he give them access codes to the property?" Julian asked, his voice steady.
"No. He was supposed to leave the side gate unlocked tonight at midnight," Marcus said. "They were planning a full tactical raid. They wanted to catch you with the ledger."
Julian leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers. "They won't come tonight now. They know the wire went dead when Bennett’s blood hit the coat. They'll wait for a federal judge to sign an emergency warrant."
"We need to clear you out, Boss," Marcus insisted. "We have the safehouse in Kentucky. We can move you through the underground drainage network before sunset."
Julian didn't answer immediately. His mind wandered back to the courtyard—to the small girl with soap on her elbows and her widowed mother who had stood between him and a execution.
If he left for Kentucky tonight, the federal agents would execute a no-knock raid on the estate within twenty-four hours. They would tear the house apart. Camille and Elsie would be caught in the crossfire of asset forfeitures, federal interrogations, and potential violence.
"No," Julian said firmly.
Marcus blinked. "Boss? You can't stay here. If the feds come with a battering ram—"
"I’m not running from my own house because of a traitor," Julian said. "Where is Camille?"
"She’s in the kitchen, sir. Trying to keep the kid busy. The girl won't leave the dog's side."
Julian stood up, adjusting his cuffs. "Tell the men to maintain defensive positions. Nobody fires unless fired upon. And get my legal counsel on a secure line."
Julian walked out of his office and navigated the silent, shuttered hallways toward the kitchen. The grand house felt cold and sterile with the window shutters closed, lit only by low-voltage emergency sconces.
When he stepped into the kitchen, he found Camille standing by the stove, stirring a pot of chicken broth. Her hands were still shaking visibly. Elsie was sitting on the floor under the center island, drawing on a brown paper grocery bag with her stub of green crayon.
Rex was curled up entirely around the child, serving as a furry, eighty-pound living barrier.
Camille turned when she heard Julian's footsteps. She immediately wiped her hands on her apron. "Mr. Ashworth. I'm sorry about the mess in the courtyard. I cleaned up the water, but—"
"Stop, Camille," Julian said gently, walking over to the island. "You don't need to apologize for anything."
"I should take Elsie home," she whispered, her eyes filled with fear. "To my apartment in the city. We shouldn't be here while you... while you handle your business."
"Your apartment isn't safe," Julian said directly. "If Bennett knew about you and your daughter, the federal agents know too. They'll have eyes on your street by now, hoping I use you to send a message or stash money."
Camille's breath hitched. "We... we have nothing to do with any of this! I just scrub your floors!"
"I know," Julian said, his tone softening. "Which is why you stay here. With me. Where my men can protect you."
Elsie looked up from under the island, holding up her paper bag. She had drawn a crude green circle with two pointy ears.
"Look, Mr. Julian," she said proudly. "It's Rex. He's wearing his soap."
May you like
Julian looked down at the drawing, a tiny, rare smile touching the corners of his lips. "It's very accurate, Elsie."
He turned back to Camille, his expression darkening again. "Pack a bag from your staff quarters. You and Elsie are sleeping in the main wing suites tonight."
