Chapter 3 - The Snake in the Garden
The revelation hung in the air like a heavy, suffocating smog.
Victor slowly rose from his leather chair. The movement was entirely frictionless, terrifying in its quiet Grace. He turned his gaze toward Marcus, the head of Blackwood Manor’s security detail—a man who had served the family for fifteen years and commanded a force of forty heavily armed guards.
“Inside the house,” Victor repeated. It wasn't a question; it was a statement of horror.
“Yes, boss,” Marcus said, holding out the tablet. His fingers were trembling slightly. “The transmitter operated on an ultra-low frequency micro-burst signal. Every six hours, it dumped encrypted audio files in three-second bursts to avoid detection by our standard perimeter sweeps. The receiver had to be within two hundred feet to catch those bursts.”
Victor stepped around his desk, standing directly in front of Marcus. He took the tablet, his dark eyes scanning the glowing green lines of signal telemetry.
“Two hundred feet,” Victor murmured. “Which means whoever planted that device twelve years ago didn't just breach the house during my mother’s murder. They lived here. They worked here. They ate our food, took our money, and sat in our hallways while transmitting our life’s blood to our enemies.”
Emma sat frozen in her wooden chair, watching the scene unfold. She was a housekeeper, not a mobster, but she possessed a sharp, analytical mind. She realized instantly what this meant for her. She wasn't just a witness who had found a bug; she was now trapped in the middle of a brutal, insular mafia hunt for a high-level traitor.
“Boss,” Marcus continued nervously, “we’ve locked down the entire perimeter as you ordered. Every staff member is gathered in the ballroom. My men are searching their quarters, checking their personal electronics, and running deep background checks.”
“Who had access to the dining hall on the night my mother died?” Victor asked quietly.
Marcus grimaced. “Twelve years ago? Boss, half the staff from that era has retired, passed away, or been let go. There are only four people currently on the estate grounds who were employed here on the night Miss Eleanor was killed.”
Victor leaned against his desk, crossing his arms. “Name them.”
Marcus tapped his tablet screen. “First, Arthur Vance. He was already head butler back then. He had full access to the dining room before and after the shooting.”
Emma’s mind flashed back to the slap Arthur had delivered across her face less than an hour ago. The butler’s reaction had been hysterical, almost desperate. Was he trying to protect the sacred memory of Eleanor Blackwood... or was he terrified that someone was touching the chair that held his greatest secret?
“Second,” Marcus continued, “is Thomas Knox, the head groundskeeper. He’s been managing the gardens and the greenhouse for twenty years. He was on duty the night of the attack.”
“Third?”
“Dr. Julian Vance, Arthur’s younger brother. He’s been the Blackwood family’s private physician for over a decade. He was in the house that night trying to save your mother’s life in the foyer.”
Victor’s jaw tightened at the mention of his mother’s death. “And the fourth person?”
Marcus hesitated, taking a small step back. He looked down at his tablet, then forced himself to meet Victor’s lethal gaze.
“The fourth person... is you, boss.”
Silence crashed back into the study.
Victor stared at Marcus for three long seconds, then let out a low, dark chuckle that contained zero warmth. “Then I suppose we can narrow the list of suspects down to three.”
Victor turned his eyes toward Emma. She shrank back slightly under his gaze, but he didn't look at her with anger. Instead, his eyes held a strange, calculating curiosity.
“You,” Victor said pointing a long finger at her. “You have no history with this family. You have no loyalty to Arthur, to Thomas, or to Julian. You have no reason to protect a traitor, and your eyes saw what forty trained security guards missed for twelve years.”
Emma swallowed hard. “Mr. Blackwood... I don't want any part of this. I just want to do my job, get paid, and take care of my sister.”
“You are already part of it, Emma,” Victor said softly, stepping closer to her chair. He leaned down until his scarred face was inches from hers. “Whoever owns that receiver knows that the bug under my mother’s chair has been crushed. They know someone moved the chair. They know someone found it. And right now, they are watching the clock, waiting to see who I execute first.”
Emma felt a cold shiver run down her spine. He was right. The mole didn't just know Victor was searching; they knew she was the one who had pointed at the light. She was now the primary threat to a killer who had successfully hidden in the shadows for over a decade.
“If I let you leave this house today,” Victor continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, “you will be dead before your taxi reaches the main road. The traitor cannot afford to let you talk to the police, to rival families, or to me.”
“So... what are you saying?” Emma whispered, her voice barely audible.
“I am saying you are staying by my side,” Victor commanded. “You are no longer a housekeeper, Emma Lawson. Starting right now, you are my personal assistant. You will walk with me, watch with me, and help me tear this house apart until I find the person who betrayed my mother.”
Before Emma could respond, a sudden, sharp alarm blared through the house.
The red emergency lights mounted in the corners of the study began to rotate, casting a crimson strobe across the mahogany walls. The heavy intercom on Victor’s desk buzzed violently with static.
Victor snatched up the receiver. “Speak!”
“Boss!” a guard’s frantic voice shouted over the speaker, accompanied by the muffled sound of shouting in the background. “It’s the greenhouse! Someone just set fire to the central conservatory! The fire suppression systems have been manually disabled!”
Marcus drew his sidearm instantly. “The greenhouse? That’s Thomas Knox’s domain!”
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Victor’s face hardened into a mask of pure iron. He grabbed a heavy 9mm pistol from his desk drawer, racked the slide with a sharp metallic clack, and looked directly at Emma.
“It seems our rat is trying to burn their evidence,” Victor said, his eyes burning with a terrifying light. “Let’s go say hello.”
