Chapter 3 - The Third-Floor Lockbox
Owen Pike did not believe in coincidences. As Chief of Security for Wescott Holdings and Adrian’s personal estates, he had built his career on paranoia, surveillance logs, and the cold geometry of human deceit. When Adrian’s directive came through—directing him away from the nursery and toward the private guest suite on the third floor—Owen did not blink. He simply rerouted his team.
The third-floor west corridor was rarely used. It smelled faintly of aged cedar and polished brass, a quiet wing reserved for long-term guests or staff members whose positions warranted independent quarters. Maren Ellis had occupied the largest suite at the end of the hall for nearly two years.
Owen stood outside the heavy mahogany door, his leather gloves already snapped tightly over his hands. Behind him stood two junior security guards, their body cameras blinking in the dim amber light of the hallway.
"The keycard override was logged three minutes ago," Owen said quietly, addressing his comm-link. "We are entering the suite now, Mr. Wescott."
With a sharp click, the magnetic lock disengaged. Owen pushed the door open, sweeping his flashlight across the entryway before stepping inside.
At first glance, the suite appeared meticulously ordered. The king-sized bed was tightly made, the Persian rug was free of debris, and a stack of literary reviews sat neatly on the walnut writing desk. To anyone else, it was the room of a fastidious, polite relative. But Owen was looking for anomalies. He bypassed the living area and headed straight for the bedroom’s walk-in wardrobe.
He didn't check the clothes hanging on the racks. He dropped to one knee beneath the low shoe shelving, running his gloved fingers along the baseboard until he felt a slight give in the wainscoting. A magnetic push-latch.
With a soft pop, a small rectangular panel detached from the wall, revealing a built-in wall safe.
"Get the digital decoder," Owen instructed the guard to his left.
It took forty-eight seconds to bypass the consumer-grade electronic keypad. When the heavy steel door swung open, the interior light spilled out onto the carpet, illuminating three items: a leather-bound journal with Elena Wescott's initials embossed on the cover, a heavy gold signet ring that belonged to Adrian’s late grandfather, and a small, unmarked amber glass dropper bottle.
Owen lifted the dropper bottle with extreme care. The label had been scraped off entirely with a razor blade, but a few residual droplets clung to the inner glass walls—a thick, clear, viscous liquid.
"Package it," Owen said, sliding the bottle into a sterile evidence pouch. "Seal the safe. Nobody touches anything else until the local forensics unit arrives."
He pulled out his phone and dialed Adrian's direct line.
"Adrian," Owen said the moment the line connected. "We found it in Maren’s private wall safe. An unmarked amber vial containing a heavy sedative compound. Along with some personal items belonging to your late wife that were reported missing months ago."
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On the other end of the line, there was absolute, suffocating silence. When Adrian finally spoke, his voice was no longer a human voice; it was carved from ice.
"Lock the estate down. Do not let Maren back inside the gates."
