Chapter 4 - The Traitor and the Trap
Emma backed away slowly, her heart pounding violently against her ribs. Her heels bumped against a heavy wooden trunk.
"Victor... please," Emma said, holding her hands up, trying to keep her voice steady. "You don't have to do this. She’s using you! Once Isabella gets William’s money, she won't leave any witnesses behind. You know how she works!"
Victor didn't blink. His expression remained as hard as stone. "Mrs. Sterling pays five million dollars into my Panama account the moment this deal closes. You, housekeeper, are just a loose thread."
Victor raised the silenced pistol.
BANG.
The gunshot sounded like a sharp, muffled cough in the quiet attic.
Emma braced for impact, squeezing her eyes shut—but no pain came.
Instead, Victor let out a grunt of shock as a heavy iron fire extinguisher swung out from the darkness behind him, slamming directly into the side of his head!
Victor stumbled sideways, his gun skidding across the wooden floorboards.
Standing behind him, gasping for breath, holding the heavy red cylinder, was old Mateo!
"Run, Emma! Get the boy!" Mateo yelled.
Victor growled like a wounded animal, turning to strike Mateo down with a heavy backhand that sent the elderly groundskeeper crashing into a stack of wooden crates.
Emma didn't hesitate. She lunged forward, grabbed the silenced pistol from the floor, and bolted out of the attic door into the hallway!
"Mateo!" she cried out.
"Go!" Mateo shouted from inside, locking the heavy oak attic door from the inside to trap Victor, sacrificing himself to give her time. "Save Ethan!"
Tears streamed down Emma’s face as she sprinted down the grand staircase, dodging into the service corridors. She knew she had only minutes before Isabella realized what was happening.
She sprinted to Ethan’s old bedroom on the second floor.
She dropped to her knees beside his bed, reaching under the heavy mahogany frame, feeling for the loose floorboard she had spotted earlier. Her fingers caught the edge. She pried the wood up.
There it was: a worn, threadbare brown teddy bear with one button eye missing—Barnaby.
Emma grabbed her apron scissors, slitting the stitched seam along the bear’s spine. Out fell a small, silver encrypted USB flash drive and a small glass vial containing a tiny residue of clear, odorless liquid—the same clear liquid Isabella had given Victor in the basement!
"I have it," Emma sobbed with relief. "I have the proof."
"Yes, you do," a voice purred from the doorway.
Emma whipped around.
Isabella stood in the frame of the bedroom door. She wasn't wearing her satin gala dress anymore. She wore a sleek black turtleneck and dark trousers, holding a small silver revolver pointed directly at Emma’s chest.
Behind her stepped Victor, his forehead bleeding from Mateo’s strike, his eyes filled with murderous fury.
"How pathetic," Isabella sighed, walking into the room with calm, terrifying posture. "A simple housekeeper trying to play detective. Did you really think you could outsmart me, Emma? I’ve been planning this takeover for four years."
"You poisoned Evelyn," Emma spat, clutching the USB drive tightly in her fist. "And you’re drugging William! You’re a monster!"
"I am an ambitious woman who understands that weak men like William Sterling don't deserve the fortunes they inherit," Isabella corrected her coldly. She gestured with her gun. "Take the drive, Victor. And take our little maid down to join the boy."
Victor stepped forward, his massive hand clamping around Emma’s throat before she could scream. He ripped the flash drive, diary, and gun from her grip.
Five minutes later, Emma was dragged down the narrow spiral staircase into the freezing sub-basement.
Victor punched the override code into the electronic keypad: 0-9-1-4.
The heavy steel door swung open with a loud groan. Victor shoved Emma violently inside. She crashed onto the cold concrete floor, scraping her palms.
The heavy steel door slammed shut behind her. The lock engaged with a terrible, final CLACK.
"Emma!" Ethan cried out, running from his cot and throwing his arms around her neck, weeping hysterically. "Emma! Are you okay?"
Emma pulled the small boy close, hugging him tightly, her whole body shaking as she looked around the dark, windowless concrete box.
Through the ventilation grille near the ceiling, Isabella’s voice echoed down, smooth, dark, and utterly devoid of mercy.
"Don't worry, Emma," Isabella whispered through the intercom speaker. "You won't be lonely down there for long. In two hours, a sudden electrical fire will break out in the old basement maintenance wing. The gas lines will rupture. Tragic, really... a devoted housekeeper and a runaway child, lost in a terrible, unavoidable accident."
"Isabella! No!" Emma screamed, hammering her fists against the steel door.
"Goodbye, Emma. Give my regards to Evelyn."
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The intercom went silent. A moment later, from the vents above, came a low, ominous hiss.
The sweet, nauseating smell of natural gas began to drift into the small concrete room.
