Chapter 1 - The Song in the CryptThe rain hit the heavy lead-paned windows of the Beacon Hill mansion with a rhythmic, melancholy fury, but inside, the silence was absolute. For eleven years, Michael Kaine had maintained this fortress of quiet. No voices raised, no music played, no unauthorized sounds allowed to drift through the grand halls where syndicate business was negotiated and secrets worth millions were guarded by men like Frank Doyle.
Then, at 7:03 on a freezing Boston morning, Michael stepped through the front door and heard a woman singing.
She was kneeling by the coffee table in the west sitting room, an earbud dangling from her wrist, a dust cloth in her hand, singing an old, cheerful love song off-key. Her gray cleaning apron hung over a sweater two sizes too large, and her hands were red from cheap soap. When she spotted Michael standing in the doorway, the music died instantly. She scrambled up, struck her knee against the mahogany table, and went rigid with terror.
"Mr. Kaine," she stammered, her voice shaking. "I’m sorry. I’m Rosa’s daughter, Grace. She had a stroke last week—she couldn't come, and she was afraid to lose her position. Please, don't fire her."
Frank Doyle, the chief of security, immediately stepped forward, his hand drifting toward his jacket. "Boss, she entered without clearance, had electronic devices in her ears, and cannot account for what she saw. We should remove her, check the cameras, and close the breach."
Grace went pale, her knuckles turning white as she clutched the cloth. She understood the danger without knowing its name.
Michael walked slowly across the room, dragged a gloved finger over the spotless table she had just polished, and looked into her terrified eyes.
"She stays," Michael said.
May you like
Frank blinked in disbelief. "Boss—"
"She stays," Michael repeated, his voice dropping into a quiet, absolute register. "And Frank? Double the perimeter watch. If someone sent her here as a test, I want to know who before dinner."
Related Stories
