Chapter 4 - The Internal Rot
The sanctuary of Damian’s study was abruptly shattered the following morning by a harsh knock on the door. Victor Crane pushed his way inside without waiting for permission, his face pale and sweating despite the cool morning air coming through the windows.
“Mr. Romano,” Victor panted, clutching a leather folder to his chest. “We’ve traced the origin of the sniper’s vantage point. It wasn't just a random hit. The security bypass codes used to disable the north perimeter cameras... they came from inside the estate network.”
Damian, who had been sitting behind his massive desk reviewing shipping manifests, looked up. The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees instantly.
“Inside job,” Damian stated flatly.
“Yes, sir,” Victor swallowed hard, darting a nervous glance in my direction. “And... there’s more. The logistics manifest for tonight’s VIP seating chart was altered. Someone deliberately placed Miss Ellison in the exact path of that line of fire. They wanted her eliminated.”
My blood ran cold. Eliminated? Why would anyone want to kill a maid? I was nobody. I cleaned rooms, polished silver, and kept my head down.
“Who had access to the master security overrides and the seating charts?” Damian asked, his voice deceptively calm.
Victor hesitated, his eyes darting frantically. “Only senior management... and the estate administrative staff.”
Damian stood up slowly, leaning his palms flat against the wooden desk as he towered over Victor. “Find out who authorized those overrides within the hour, Victor. Because if I find out the leak leads back to someone under your direct supervision, you won’t live long enough to pack your bags.”
Victor bowed his head stiffly, muttering a panicked assent, and practically bolted from the room.
I stood frozen near the fireplace, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. “Someone... someone was trying to kill me? But why? I don't even know anyone in Chicago outside of this estate. I moved here three months ago to escape—to start over.”
Damian rounded the desk in two long strides, closing the distance between us. He reached out, his large, warm hands coming to rest gently on my shoulders, grounding me.
“You’re safe here, Harper. I told you that, and I meant it,” Damian said, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of my panic. “Whoever is pulling the strings thinks they can use you to get to me, or they’re trying to silence something you saw without realizing it. We are going to find out who it is.”
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“What if they try again?” I whispered, looking up into his dark, intense eyes.
“They won't get the chance,” Damian replied, a terrifying steel edge entering his tone. “Starting today, you aren't working the floors anymore. You stay in the east wing. Near me.”
